Sylvan Throne
by chipperdyke
Summary: Hermione and her friends begin training as Aurors a year after the defeat of Voldemort, and Hermione meets a woman who will change her life forever. F/F as the story progresses.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Hermione and her friends begin training as Aurors a year after the defeat of Voldemort. Warning: very slight canon inconsistencies.

Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Rating: Starts at G but the last chapter is NC-17. Sorry youngins! Get outta here.

Warnings: F/F as story progresses. Mature themes and content.

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><p><em>Sometimes I wonder whether it would have happened differently if she wasn't so beautiful. Ivory skin, a flawless complexion, piercing blue eyes, and thin lips, with a grim look about her, all framed by perfectly black hair. At first I could barely look her in the eyes at all, although I never admitted that to myself. I stole quick glances at her body, at the subtle curve of her hip, the swell of her breast, the blunt fingers and toned arms. It was only later that I was able to steel myself enough to look her in the eye, and what I saw there was more terrifying than intriguing, although not by much.<em>

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><p>Ch 1<p>

Harry mopped his brow, which didn't stop the sweat from dripping off his nose to splatter on the wooden boards below him. He faced a mass of ropes, many of them knotted either above or below the platform he found himself on. He knew from experience that while many of those messes of cords were sturdy, some were not, and putting your faith in a rope or two that hung from one of those knots could be disastrous.

He blinked his eyes to clear them, happy for the water-repelling charm on his glasses. He couldn't count the number of times that charm had probably saved his life. But right now, it wasn't a matter of life and death - only a matter of pass or fail. He gathered his not inconsiderable facilities together and dove into the rope maze, his forearms aching as he clung to one rope and then the next, cursing internally. Ape lineage did not mean that every human was Tarzan.

He swung awkwardly into another rope, clinging with his feet, and the ropes parted enough for him to make out a wooden platform similar to the one he'd left behind. Relief made him slide down the rope a few inches, and then he regained his grip and reached for another rope he deemed safe, carefully gripping it with first one hand, and then the other, and finally committing to it with his legs. He heard a snort from below him and steadfastly ignored it, reaching for the platform with one hand, and then elbowing his way onto it.

It was only then that he noticed the leather boots already on the platform, and a sudden rush of adrenaline made his roll onto the platform particularly fast. He scrambled up, only to have the wind knocked out of him by a solid kick to the chest, which left him sprawled out on his back.

He sputtered and remembered that he was not supposed to roll on his stomach to get up.

He focused on his opponent, a tall, lanky guy that looked in his mid-twenties. He had long hair that reminded Harry of Bill's hair, except Harry had never seen Bill's face contorted in such concentration as he attempted to smash somebody's face with his boot.

Harry rolled away again, and as his opponent's foot came down he grabbed it, twisting and pulling it out from under him.

Suddenly an artificial pop sounded and Harry relaxed.

"That's fine, Mr. Potter," came a voice from below, and Harry got up, sweaty and unexpectedly very grumpy. He jumped off the platform, trusting the Feather Fall charm on the gym's floor to catch his fall.

He bounced off the ground and found his feet. He faced a well-built, very tall and very annoying man who'd boldly kept his given name, Tom. Hermione and Jonah sat on a bench to the side, one looking completely exhausted and the other a little scornful. They had both completed this task before him, and had evidently been allowed to watch him; he now knew where the snort had come from.

Tom spoke with a voice that would have made more sense coming from a pre-pubescent boy. "Your speed completing the other exercises made up for the atrocious performance on the ropes. Congratulations. You've completed the physical section of Auror training."

Harry forced a smile and shook the proffered hand. He turned away quickly, walking to the door. Recognizing Hermione's step behind him, he held the door for her. Jonah stayed behind, probably to speak with Tom about a detail on scoring.

The moment the door closed behind them Hermione turned to him and said, "I wouldn't have stayed to watch but Jonah watched me, too, and I thought if I stayed he wouldn't be so... obnoxious about the ropes. I'm sorry, Harry. Clearly monkey abilities have nothing to do with actually defeating Dark Lords."

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. "How'd yours go?"

"Alright. I saw my final opponent sooner, but she almost pinned me. Am I ever glad this is over."

They were walking along a long corridor that lead to the mess halls. "D'ya think they'll let us start using our wands again?" Harry said.

"I'm sure they will," Hermione said. "What else could we learn that **doesn't** involve wands?"

Harry didn't want to think about that, and luckily he was saved from a response by their arrival at the mess hall. It was completely empty and oddly cavernous, a fact that had led Hermione to observe that presumably there had been more Aurors when Grasia was headquarters seemed very lonely now, but Harry could easily imagine the great halls filled with wizarding police. Somehow in his imagination the Aurors were smiling, although he knew precious few Aurors who made smiling a habit. Tonks -

He shook his head to clear it. A year had passed since the final battle, and he and Hermione had been training for most of it. Harry was not fully committed to the career, especially since he knew exactly what he was getting into. But although he had skipped his final year at Hogwarts and had no interest in returning, he wasn't ready to enter a mundane life working at a shop or even at the Ministry. Maybe he could even be helpful, stopping the rise of the next Dark Lord... and at the very least, he was sure he'd get to travel a bit during the compulsory 5-year stint after Auror training.

He definitely knew that he couldn't stand by and let innocent people die simply because he was tired of fighting. And really, what else was he good for, anyway?

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked, and he realized that he'd been brooding, walking slowly toward the kitchen.

"Just wondering again why I decided to subject myself to such humiliation," he said glibly. "What was your excuse again? Something about the public good and tackling the greatest challenges you can find?"

Hermione shoved his shoulder lightly. "John-Andrew said that we're likely to be paired directly with mentors now that we've proven ourselves physically worthy."

"Who's John-Andrew?"

"One of the guys I've been speaking to, you know. The memoirs."

"Right," Harry said, feeling guilty for not paying closer attention to Hermione's pet project. He honestly thought it was a waste of time, gathering the perspectives of Aurors active during Voldemort's second rise to power. Plenty of books had already been written. But he supposed Hermione had to occupy her mind somehow.

"He said they use the Sorting Hat, but I don't believe it. Don't you remember his song in the first year? He said that he sat around gathering dust all year, that sorting the First Years is his only occupation."

"That's obviously not true," Harry pointed out, wrinkling his nose at the paste that was evidently intended for consumption and picking up a few apples instead. Sometimes it was better to forget you were hungry.

Hermione gamely heaped a scoop onto her plate and they moved to a nearby table. "But that doesn't make any sense. The Sorting Hat was made to sort students into houses, not to pair people up."

"Who knows? Maybe it got bored one day and decided to use its mind-reading powers to greater effect?"

Near the end of their meal, two small slips of paper drifted from the ceiling which read, "Report to the Great Hall at dusk with robes." And so the pair found themselves standing in their black robes before yet another huge wooden building, this one with stained glass windows that reminded Harry of a church. Jonah was already there, and he gave both of them a haughty look before ignoring them.

Finally Hermione shifted, remarking, "Not like them to be late, is it?"

But still they waited, until Harry noticed a woman walking toward them, a brown bag over her shoulder and her black robes looking ratty even in the distance. Her appearance was striking anyway, midnight black hair contrasting sharply with her skin. She moved with confidence, and Harry was suddenly sure that this woman, for whatever reason, was the reason they'd been kept waiting.

When she finally arrived, she gave each of them a wordless nod, and as her eyes met Harry's he felt a cold uneasiness settle in his belly. There was something not quite right about her. It wasn't just the distance in her eyes, or the calm collection with which she held herself. She couldn't have been more than a few years older than them, but she felt... different. She creeped him out.

And then the doors opened and everyone but the newcomer jumped a little, eyes straining to see into the relatively well-lit building. Hermione moved first.

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><p>Hermione didn't like being wrong, but there sat the Sorting Hat, self-important and somewhat smug in its decrepit condition. Clearly John-Andrew's memory was not as flawed as she had thought. Assembled around it was a group of about a dozen and a half older Aurors, grumbling and shifting in their seats as they watched she, Harry, Jonah, and the mysterious woman file in.<p>

A young man called Regin beckoned her, and she walked around the chairs to him, standing next to the table that the Hat rested on. He was clearly facilitating, and the older Aurors were giving him resentful looks already. Aurors were not accustomed to be kept waiting.

Regin gave everyone an apologetic look. "Traditionally the Hogwarts Sorting Hat is used to sort Aurors into groups for efficiency purposes, and Headmaster McGonagall has generously allowed us to use it to pair experienced Aurors with those being trained as well. First the hat will familiarize itself with our potential mentors. Then you four will be assigned."

He picked up the hat and gingerly handed it to the first of the assembled Aurors. "Timothy Frome," the man said, sighing and dropping the Hat onto his head. After a moment he nodded, presumably to himself, and took it off his head, handing it to the man next to him.

Hermione was amused to note that the hat really fit only one of them, a very fat man with a bald head who mumbled "Beabel Noff" as he dropped the hat on his oversized head.

The whole process took about three minutes. The Aurors were clearly impatient. "And now the candidates," Regin said, taking the Hat from the last of them and walking it over to the mysterious dark-haired witch, who said clearly, "Lucy Cunningham."

Hermione remembered the shock she felt as the woman's eyes fell on hers bare minutes before. The Sorting Hat covered Lucy's eyes now, but the tips of her raven-black hair ran seamlessly into her ceremonial black robe, so that it seemed she was all one black pillar, with a tip of ivory skin, luminescent in the witch-light, and the tattered hat perched absurdly on top.

After what seemed an hour, but was probably closer to five minutes, the Sorting Hat croaked, "Deferred." A murmur passed through the Aurors. Lucy - Hermione tripped over the name; it didn't quite fit, somehow - took off the hat, and with a strange, fierce humor that never left her eyes, she passed it to Harry.

Hermione tore her eyes off the witch and just managed to smile encouragingly at Harry before his eyes, too, disappeared. One minute passed, and then two, and Hermione began to wonder with mounting hysteria whether she could handle that much silent waiting under the hat. Then Harry's lips moved, only slightly, like they sometimes did when he slept. This meant to Hermione that the Hat and Harry were communicating, and she relaxed, more comfortable with that idea.

"Mercy Audrey," the Hat announced, and there was some more grumbling and shifting around in seats. Harry took off the Hat and wavered awkwardly, unsuccessfully trying to pick out the person he was assigned to. Regin waved him back, taking the Hat and handing it to Hermione. He was obviously trying to finish as quickly as possible.

Hermione took the hat with shaking hands, wishing Ron was there. Just a glimpse of his carrot head would make her feel more confident, she was sure. "Hermione Granger," she said, squeezing her eyes shut as she put the hat on.

The hat considered for all of ten milliseconds. "Lew Cunningham," it said, with perhaps the most certainty that Hermione had ever heard in its voice.

'That's wrong,' Hermione thought.

"Don't doubt me, dear," the hat said. Hermione removed the hat to blank stares and handed it to Jonah, who eagerly donned it, leaving no time for questions.

He was under the hat for a few minutes

"Marco Flores," the hat said finally, and the Aurors stirred again.

Regin took the hat back and stood awkwardly. "Well, I guess this is what we get for going back to the old way." He was obviously out of his element, and did not feel ashamed to show it.

One of the assembled Aurors spoke up. "Well, we can always do it the usual way," he said.

"Unfortunately not, actually, there's a bit of a complication, you know, the rules..."

Hermione recalled that any Sorting was absolutely final, and suddenly realized there was likely some sort of magical contract involved in agreeing to be Sorted. She glanced over at the witch she had been paired with, who was apparently named Lew.

"I mean, I'm sure we can um, chose two of you to help the ladies out on the basics of training..." he drifted off, obviously noting the reluctance on all of their faces. "Or... I'll figure something out. Alright, you're all dismissed, except Flores and Audrey."

There was a pause, then Harry touched her arm, smiled with a mixture of sympathy and excitement, and stepped forward to meet his mentor. Jonah followed, and Lew turned to Regin, asking, "Where should I sleep?" Her voice was surprisingly gruff, and the accent was American.

"Oh, oh, right. Hermione, your room has an extra bed, correct?" Hermione nodded. "Sleep in her cabin for tonight."

Lew turned to Hermione. "Let's quit this joint," she said, nodding with crooked eyebrow at a side door. Hermione followed her, feeling the weight of many eyes on their backs as they escaped.

The rush of air was welcome to her flushed cheeks, and she breathed it in greedily. She opened her eyes to see Lew openly looking at her, and she tore her eyes away from her, glancing around the small rose garden. A church loomed behind Lew. The porous rocks it was constructed of were green with moss, but the gathering dusk turned the green into black.

"So, Hermione Granger. I see your name on the papers at least every time I pick one up." Her voice was deep and rough, and her eyes narrowed when she talked. "Must be tough, everyone you meet always thinking they know you better than you know yourself."

Hermioen took a few steps and Lew followed her along the path along the side of the clearing. Hermione took in another breath, and then replied, "Well, there are the Muggles. I begin to prefer to meet them - they, at least, treat me like I'm human."

This elected a subdued grin from Lew. Hermione suddenly remembered her - she'd seen her before - "You used to study in the library here every day last year!"

"I did," Lew confirmed, and after a pause, seemed to realize she should explain. "I took my NEWTS in December, they let me use the library to prepare. I didn't do quite good enough, so I went to Hogwarts for the last half-a-year and brushed up."

This was familiar territory for Hermione, and she jumped on the new topic. "Did you, by any chance, meet a Ron Weasley there?"

Lew closed her eyes. "Tall, redheaded guy? Yeah, he's Bill's brother, right? I was expecting him to be a bit brighter, but I guess he wasn't so lucky."

A flare of anger rose in Hermione, replacing her excitement. "He's my boyfriend," she informed Lew coldly.

Lew snorted, and with restraint she simply said, "Oh. Well, maybe I was wrong."

The were walking along a dirt pathway aside a row of cabins. It was July, and the grass was mostly green and tiny wildflowers still bloomed, speckles of white against the ground. The valley's surroundings changed every few months - the Aurors called it Moving Day, and Hermione understood that they meant it quite literally. At this time, Grasia was surrounded by a forest of oak and birch trees.

In the middle of the clearing was a raised dirt mount where Apparation was possible, and somehow at least six pairs of eyes were always on that hill - ten when anyone was on it. Aurors were never off duty.

"This one's mine," Hermione turned in at the second-to-last cabin, opening the door and flicking her wand at a lamp. It was a single room, with a boxed-in corner as the "in"-house. One of the beds was immaculately made, with sky-blue sheets and a small stuffed porpoise toy. The other had two bags on it, with clothes and boxers overflowing out of them.

"Sorry, I told him to move these," Hermione muttered, and took the sundry armful and dropped it on her own bed.

"Must have been nice to have your own room, huh?" Lew raised her eyebrows suggestively, and Hermione dropped her eyes, turning away again.

She started stripping off the formal robes, revealing a pink sweater and jeans. She sighed, deciding that a quick confidence might reduce the palatable tension in the room. "Actually, he's been a bear lately. The Council is still deciding whether he'll be let into the training program, and he's worse than a constipated dragonet without a doll."

Lew snorted, the sound jarring. "Of course, he has one, don't he?" Hermione turned to see her taking off her robes too, revealing a white tank top - and a brilliantly red scar. A scar that was somehow familiar... "Your boyfriend?" Lew clarified, looking at her.

"Oh. My. God." Hermione's knees buckled and she sat on her bed. "Are you... when I was thirteen..."

Lew hooked her thumbs on her jeans. "The mysterious American rescuer? I figured you'd get it once you saw my scar."

Hermione kept staring. "Anonymity isn't your privilege," she whispered in shock, trying to connect the streaky-bleached, towheaded, overconfident teen of her memory with the somber, pale figure before her. It was a complete transformation, though more believable without the almost iridescent quality the black robes gave her. Hermione wondered if the woman before her had hidden in the brazen youth, or if the youth had only taken on a new guise. They shared only a lean, hardened body and suspicious eyes.

"Sorry, this is just a lot to process," she said.

Lew made a gesture of calming. "Hey, you've got all the time in the world." She looked around, taking the cabin in again, and then said, "Thanks for sharing. I'm gonna go get some air." She dropped her bag.

"Wait," Hermione was focused again. "Before you go - why do you think the Sorting Hat assigned me to you?"

Lew turned from the door. "What, that little glitch? Honestly... I think if you'd put it on first, it would have deferred you, too. The two of us have plenty of experience dealing with the Dark Arts, maybe more than some of those duds we're supposed to be 'assigned' to. I think it's just smarter than the current Council, sees we're already really Aurors."

"And why, after passing the NEWTS, didn't you go on to the physical training phase? Or wait, like Ron?"

"Let's just say, the Council isn't that dumb. I could teach the physical training phase. I skipped it." She turned back toward the door.

"One more thing," said Hermione. Lew turned, unperturbed. "Why didn't you take your NEWTS in America, after 7th year?"

"Didn't like school, myself. Too fucking expensive without socialized schooling or a job... I left when I was fifteen."

Hermione, mind whirring, let her go after that. Packing Ron's bags, she went over the many implications of their Q&A period. Didn't Harry have more Dark Arts experience than she? Was it something else that paired her, rather than Harry, with Lew? What sort of resume did this Lew have, anyway? She'd only been alive perhaps five years longer than Hermione, and hadn't been involved in the defeat of Voldemort in any noticeable way. And how could she have gone without instruction for the last two years of schooling, perhaps the most important of all? She knew nobody, outside herself and Harry, who could even learn a spell without some sort of instruction. And Hogwarts was free to those who couldn't pay. America had public schools, too... she'd heard that the American Department of Magic had less sway than its English equivalent, but never guessed that extended to schooling. And was Lew's family simply poor, or...

When Lew got back, she was busy paging through her copy of The History of Magic. Professor Binns has skipped over the section on Early Magic in the New World...

The sound of the door opening made her jump. She carefully marked the page she was on and greeted Lew, who grunted and started pulling things out of her bag. After a long silence, Hermione tried again:

"That's a massive scar, there."

Lew stopped and looked at her, icy blue eyes piercing. Hermione suddenly felt like a small child who'd accidentally spilled liquid soap everywhere; her confidence wavered. "It is," Lew replied after a second. "I don't remember when I didn't carry this. I got it when I was very small. Chemical burn."

"A misstep?" Hermione asked sympathetically.

"Not a mistake, that much I know," Lew stated, and went back to unpacking.

Hermione decided she'd give her new roommate some space. She walked out, shivering as the cold air hit her. She had no idea where exactly they were, but guessed it was somewhat lower in altitude than London, which was a blessing. The summer nights were warm enough.

She paced the familiar grounds. It was almost last year that she had first come here, and she had rarely left since; the library was extensive, and was connected to the Hogwarts and Ministry of Magic archives. And of course there was Ron, who this summer caught the teapot over at least twice a week. Hermione had to explicitly request that he not come more often. It didn't exactly help his application, and she was exhausted all the time.

She found herself at the library, a great stone structure that was incredibly neat and utterly un-ornate. She drifted among the stacks of books, touching her finger on their spines occasionally but not picking up a single one. She stopped at Harry's cabin, but neither he nor Jonah was there, and all their stuff was gone. Hermione was abandoned. Heart heavy but carrying a bit of the library's magic still with her, she opened her cabin's door to find Lew curled under her blankets, already asleep. She undressed quietly and turned out the light.

She pondered the nature of her new roommate, and perhaps her first partner as an Auror. Sometimes quick and brutal, but mostly possessed of a calm that seemed wise without being calculating... Hermione was honestly surprised by her lack of dislike. She sensed that even three years ago, she might have loathed Lew, but today, she was just fascinated by the woman's complexity.

In the moments before sleep took her, Hermione forgave Lew for her quick judgments, in the same thought forgiving herself for her own.


	2. Chapter 2

_She was a face from my past, and so I justified the trembling in my hands, the anxious racing of my heart, as a legacy of our shared experience. I met her when I was thirteen, and even then she was stunning, bold and well, unbelievably brave. She couldn't have been older than seventeen at the time. I'd become slightly obsessed with her - I used to try to draw her, although I was constantly frustrated by my efforts. The fact that I could see my childhood hero every morning when I opened my eyes - well, it didn't explain the fact that her touch made me numb with excitement, but at least it explained my blushes. I was so good at lying to myself. _

**Ch 2**

Hermione woke abruptly in the middle of the night to the sound of violent shaking. Was that Ron in the bed, or... Hermione remembered suddenly. Lew. A magical attack?

She stole out of bed, grabbing her wand from underneath her pillow. Lew was having some kind of seizure. Hermione grabbed her shoulder with her left hand, wand at the ready.

Lew twisted one more time, then stopped. Her eyes opened. "What," she said, propping herself up.

"You were shaking. Are you okay?"

"Uh... yeah. Sorry. Nightmare." Her face was glistening.

Hermione let go of her sweaty shoulder and stepped back. "Sleep is a vulnerable time, are you sure that wasn't an attack?"

Lew shook her head, subdued. "I started having them almost three years ago. My Healer said it wasn't magical. I'm here to get over it."

"Maybe you should get a second opinion. Have they been getting better?" Hermione sat on her bed.

"Not yet. My healer was Albus Dumbledore."

"Oh." That left no room for argument. She set her wand down and turned on a light. "Do you mind if I do some reading right now?" The sky was brightening.

"No, go for it." Lew swung her legs off the side of the bed. "I'm going for a run myself." She pulled some shorts on - Hermione noticed her legs were long and tight - and departed.

Two hours later, she came back and went behind the house to shower, and then dressed and began poring over what looked like an ancient book. Hermione was bursting with questions, but restrained herself. Basking in this newfound free time, she finished the book, and autobiography of the witch responsible for the slavery of the house-elves in Europe, and completed her own lengthy notes on it. A whiny letter arrived from Ron, and she decided to shower before responding.

She was gathering her things, yawning, when Lew spoke up. "There's a gym here, right?" Hermione nodded, fearing that if she opened her mouth, the questions would come spilling out. "Cool. Wanna come?" She was nearly out the door when Hermione agreed.

The valley was suffused with midmorning sunlight. "I'm in the mood for some sparring, you?" Hermione asked, partly truthfully (which she never thought would happen), and partly because she was incredibly curious about this woman's supposed prowess. Lew agreed easily, and ten minutes later they were facing each other with matching wooden poles.

Lew moved softly on the ground, like she wasn't walking, but floating - rather like a gliding hawk. Hermione's trainer Harris moved like that... Suddenly Lew struck, very differently than Harris, with total viciousness, jerkily. Hermione blocked and attempted a reprise, and they were at it.

Lew was much stronger, and through simple physical power she pinned Hermione the first time. Hermione changed tactics, realizing she couldn't go at it straightforwardly. She started emphasizing attacks on the legs, trying to tire Lew's already taxed legs; if Lew was so confident that she would go for a long run and then spar the same day, Hermione would give her a run for her money.

When Lew's reactions started slowing slightly, Hermione caught her chance before she was too tired herself - she leapt and hooked her legs around the muscled shoulders. Lew staggered, trying to lock her staff behind Hermione's back, but Hermione was too quick, pushing herself up and over Lew's head, using her momentum to shove Lew to the ground. Lew dropped her pole and caught herself with her hands as Hermione spun and locked her arms around Lew's, snatching her hands and pulling them behind her back. Lew's jaw hit the mat, and then she spun on the ground and pinned Hermione easily, overpowering her again.

After a second, she got up off Hermione, offering a hand, which she took gratefully. Lew inclined her head. "We have things to teach each other, you almost had me."

They walked over to the cabin in companionable silence, Hermione happy with that small concession. She'd started beating her trainer occasionally, and she realized it was probably good to be humbled in this category.

Hermione was torn on the subject of formal robes; Lew said they should wear them, just to be safe, and fished hers out of her bag. The bag was purse-sized, and seemed to contain Lew's entire wardrobe, a pillow, several blankets, and at least three books that she'd seen.

Lew's reticence didn't seem unnatural. Hermione thought she was beginning to understand it: Lew wasn't really a quiet person, only one used to unconcerned solitude. Some people react to solitude by talking too much when they did have company; Lew simply sometimes forgot she had company at all. It was part of what Hermione had sensed before: this woman simply was, without regard to what others around her thought.

Lew's confidence about the righteousness of their assignment together reassured Hermione; she only wondered, with slight worry, what the Council would do with them now.

* * *

><p>They were standing before the doors of the great hall, and it was high noon once again. Lew knocked, and they waited.<p>

Hermione turned to her, a question urgently breaking through her question-shield. "You said you went to Hogwarts? What house were you in?"

Lew glanced at her, blue eyes piercing in the sunlight. "Slytherin," she responded, and then the doors opened and they were let in.

Through her shock, Hermione registered the assembly of the Council, as usual only about half of the total. She also recognized many Aurors from the day before, including the fat, bald wizard. They were all seated around an ovoid table.

Regin bowed nervously and sat down on a small chair. There were no other empty chairs. It looked as if formal robes had been the right choice.

The vice-chair of the Council spoke. "The situation of a candidate being assigned to another candidate during training is unprecedented." The scribbling of an enchanted quill rang through the otherwise silent chamber, which explained the formality of his speech. "After deliberation, we have concluded that the pair of you will go through a training schedule devised by four of the Aurors on rotation; Regin will administer the tests, and hopefully we will all get back to business as quickly as possible. The Sorting Hat's decree will stand."

Hermione was torn between relief and a growing horror. She had never met a Slytherin she'd personally liked, or even one she could stand for more than ten minutes at a time. Now she was basically handcuffed to one, for at least two years.

"... work on this schedule," the vice-chair continued. "In the meantime, you will work on communication and mind-binding exercises. Some of this training will be shared with the other candidates and their mentors. Meet them tomorrow morning in the Charms grove."

Hermione found that she did indeed have a lot to say to Ron, after all.

* * *

><p>Being a remarkably self-motivated person, Hermione had compiled a list of spells and other techniques for "communication and mind-binding" by the time they arrived in the clearing the next morning. She set it down carefully with the four books she'd thought would be helpful, and then launched herself into Harry's waiting arms.<p>

"Where on earth have you been staying?" she burst out immediately.

Harry laughed, eyes twinkling. "What, you noticed I moved out? Mercy and I are rooming together in her cabin. I'm basically on house arrest, or I would have dropped by... we're working on charms for communication to start out with. I think we're co-casting spells today, though..."

Hermione followed Harry's gaze to a drop-dead beautiful witch, probably in her early thirties. "Harry, there's way too much heart-stopping beauty in this clearing."

Harry agreed, pointing out that Hermione's presence didn't help much. Then he chortled, raising his eyebrows as Jonah and his mentor arrived at the clearing. Jonah's mentor, Marco, averaged about half the visible organs, and his stench was evident from across the clearing. Just as evident was Jonah's distaste, which turned bitter when he saw the other two mentors. "He just brought the clearing beauty index down to tolerable levels," Harry quipped.

Hermione turned to her partner, who'd just appeared after having been gone all of the previous night. Lew was leaning against a nearby oak, spinning a longish twig in her fingers. Every time the twig faced forward, a sparkly flare issued forth. There was an odd look of concentration on her face. Suddenly she flipped the stick forward, gripping it with narrowed eyes, staring at the ground in front of her. It exploded in a black, moving blanket.

It was a colony of ants, conjured or perhaps transfigured of stones. She was using the twig from the ground as a wand, and performing complex spells with it. Hermione was flabbergasted.

Marco, who miraculously appeared to still possess both of his eyes - perhaps only to spite Mad-Eye Moody, the famous Auror - called their attention. "We'll do the large-group exercises here, end around 6, break for lunch in about four hours. You two -" he gestured vaguely in Lew's direction, ignoring Hermione "- have to practice the silent-communication techniques on your own time."

Hermione's mind raced as they arranged themselves in a circle, rather like preschoolers for storytime. Silent-communication techniques? Perhaps he meant the Balidor spell?

"We'll start with something simple." Mercy, Harry's mentor, wilted under the stare of Marco. "At least that's what it says we should do," she added, and then backed down entirely, almost visibly shrinking.

Hermione craned her neck; it looked like she was clutching a small book... "Is that... is that some sort of manual?" she asked, with growing annoyance. Mercy was prim and obviously backboneless, yet it was she who had the manual, she who had the authority...

"Yes, they gave it to us to prepare." Marco's voice was rumbling and vaguely Hispanic, Hermione noticed, annoyance flaring. She bit her tongue.

Marco nodded at Mercy. "We'll start with a simple levitation." He dropped a rock in the center of their circle. "I don't expect to succeed until afternoon. I'll lead."

The concept was simple: give up a portion of your magic to the actual caster, the "leader." The catch was this: every bit of previous training regarding the sharing of magic was preventative. Defense Against the Dark Arts specifically focused on protecting one's magic from being tapped into.

Hermione supposed that the little training Harry'd had in Occlumency helped rather than hurt him, perhaps by making him more aware of his mind in relation to other minds. Lew seemed to master the task by sheer force of will, but Hermione and Jonah were struggling. Hermione had the slight recompense that Jonah seemed to be a bit worse than she was, but being one of the worst students in a group was both uncomfortable and relatively unprecedented. She gritted her teeth and tried harder, which only seemed to earn her more mocking comments from Marco.

An hour after they'd started, with the sun mounting the sky above them, cutting through the branches overhead, Lew called for a break. Everyone sat down, relieved, but Lew brought Hermione away from the group.

"Listen," Lew said earnestly. "Half of this exercise is communication, which we didn't have the chance to practice or even understand on a theoretical level. You're doing incredibly well, for that."

Hermione found her frustration ebbing. "You're getting it fine, though," she pointed out.

"I've done things like this before, as your friend Harry probably has. The key is..." Lew paused, grasping for words. "The key is, letting go. It's like a lack of effort... like meditation. Lose consciousness of your magic - don't scoop it up and offer it. Marco will take it from you, and then you'll know how that feels and you'll start understanding it."

Hermione found that Lew was right; once she'd figured out how to let Marco in, the rest flowed more easily. The rest of the day passed quickly. By the end of it, they'd successfully sent a boulder flying at least ten feet in the air, and transfigured a bush into a pot.

Marco concluded the day with a foreboding promise. "Tomorrow we'll have Mercy lead, and then do some true co-casting - combining spells by different casters." He turned to Hermione and Lew. "You two better do well with the communication practice, tomorrow we'll be using it."

"Sir." Hermione didn't hesitate. "We need to know what the 'communication' entails - is it a spell?"

Marco raised an eyebrow. "No wands, no words. Start holding hands, progress to long-distance. Communicate images and speech, whatever you want. The concept is similar to what we've been doing here. Good luck."

It was already getting dark. Hermione trudged home, arms heavy with books and exhaustion. She didn't expect to sleep much that night.

Lew had sensed that she was tired and offered to bring back food from the mess hall, and she was looking forward to those few minutes alone. She opened the door to a clumsy shout. "Hermione! Home!"

It was Ron. The five-o'clock teapot from the Three Broomsticks. How could I have forgotten? "How are you, sweetie?" she said, mentally responding, Drunk.

"Terrible," he said, collapsing back on her bed. It looked like he hadn't changed his clothes since last visit. "But I came here! Where've you been? I was curious to meet your mentor-lady, but I guess she's gone..." He didn't look very disappointed.

"She'll be coming with food, actually," Hermione said, to Ron's dismay. "We've been casting all day." She sat on the bed, wondering if he'd notice that this was the first time in her training that she'd been allowed a wand.

"Oh. Kisses before?" he asked hopefully, puckering. She sometimes wondered whether his complaint of Lavender Brown had been heartfelt; this was the more wordy of his visits. She sighed and consented; the butterbeer would destroy any semblance of a conversation anyway.

His face was rough with stubble, and the kisses were sloppy. They were sweeter than usual; he'd become a more aggressive lover since he'd been sent back to Hogwarts, and it wasn't an improvement. She welcomed the more caring touch.

She wasn't surprised when Lew knocked, even almost relieved. Lew was overburdened with food, easily enough for Ron, too. She nodded her thanks and set the food on the small table at the back of the cabin.

"Lew, Ron." Hermione was brief; Ron lay like a beached whale in her bed. "I believe you've met before."

Ron scrambled up, eyes on the packages. "Can I have some?"

Ron, it turned out, didn't remember Lew at all. Harry appeared soon after they'd finished eating, and Hermione gratefully unloaded Ron onto him; he seemed unable to prevent himself from interrupting their first attempts at mastering this new task. Hermione hoped that spending time alone would help the men's friendship; Ron seemed to think that Harry had personally wronged him by doing well at the NEWTs. Hermione, by virtue of brains and charisma, was mostly exempt from this overt criticism. This, and the distance of a year, had destroyed their friendship, which had been so strong for so many years.

With Ron gone, Lew and Hermione faced each other on the floor of the cabin. To Hermione's overexhausted eye, everything seemed oddly clear: the knots in the bare wood walls, the shade of the yellow stripes on Lew's blanket, the white of her shirt, and the searing quality of her eyes.

The exercise was communication, but Hermione found it was more about understanding. When they finally started coming through, the messages were in code - the code of Lew's mind.

The first image Hermione got was of a mountain - not from below, but somewhere above. Terrifyingly vivid, somehow primal, and ultimately complete in its simplicity. Hermione was floored. When the words started coming, they were similar, edged with a clarity, a desperate calm, that was very different from Hermione's thoughts. She struggled to decipher the hard-edged words, finding that the difficulty in this exercise was not in sending messages, but recieving them.

It was deep in the night when Hermione called break. "Maybe it would be easier if we tried to... dunno... tune in to the other's frequency before sending the messages?" Her words, the first in hours, shattered the strange, charged silence in the room.

Lew pondered, and Hermione wondered at how such a vivid, pure clarity could be integrated with the complex thinking she saw flashing behind her companion's eyes now. "I think it'd be too hard," Lew decided. "If we got it wrong, it would be almost impossible to salvage."

Hermione nodded, but she wasn't sure. Impulsively, she grabbed Lew's hand and thought, with a fierce clarity, "Do all members of the House of Slytherin think like snakes?"

Lew grinned at her. "That was great," she said aloud, and then Hermione felt a thought being thrown back at her: "Does every mousehaired Mudblood, up shit creek without a thesaurus, require thought associations like the branch of a pine to understand what a day-old hatching could?" With that came a hissing sound, deep in the throat, as a snake would make.

As Hermione was recovering from that sound, an image followed it - a black raven, beady eyes cocked, leaping off the rampart of a castle. The raven ducked low and came back into view, triumphant, a green snake caught in its bill.

"Life isn't an extended metaphor," Lew said. Hermione opened her eyes slowly and saw the raven behind, through, inside the witch opposite her. "I am no more a snake that you, otter."


	3. Chapter 3

_It was when I began to understand her acute vulnerability that I truly fell in love with her. Whether it was because we were partnered or for some other reason, she really made an effort to communicate with me, to let me into her quiet, intellectual world. Later I found out that she had spent the better part of the last two years in her animal form. The human world had not been kind to her, and for a while she gave up entirely on her own race. I never thought to question what had happened to her own friends, or why she did not choose to do law enforcement in America. It was far too thrilling to find an equal in intelligence and academic curiosity. Whether I'd admitted it or not, after that first night of mental communication, I could not even pretend to myself that I was in love with Ron, or had ever been._

**Ch 3 Consideration**

The pair slept only a few hours that night. Hermione woke to Lew shaking in her bed, and turned over, ignoring it. The shaking stopped with Hermione's alarm a few minutes later, and Lew sat up, rubbing her face briskly. Hermione wondered if she'd ever get used to that.

They dressed silently, and then Lew faced her. "I'm sorry I was harsh last night. It was unnecessary. As for 'Mudblood,' in America we use that term loosely; I said it reflexively. My parents were both Muggles."

"Apology accepted," Hermione said haughtily, and then she shook her head, dispelling her lingering annoyance. "It's amazingly easy to forget you're Slytherin, and I'm... trying to make sense of it."

Lew smiled ironically. "Kid, this is the real world. You don't fit people into categories: good or bad, brave or stupid. The distinctions of childhood are nothing but lines in the sand." She opened the door for Hermione. "Can you tell me how you enchanted your CD player to never run out of batteries?"

Lew made efforts all day to make up for the last night, and Hermione found herself swayed from her bad humor. Over lunch, she asked Hermione about her first magical experience. Hermione, surprised and flattered at the attention, went into great detail.

Her parents were both orthodontists, and as a child Hermione walked herself to their office after school every day. Most of the time she hurried, eager to arrive so she could check on the tooth molds and read. But one day, she dragged her feet, thoughtful. A kid at kindergarten had made fun of her bushy hair, and she was devastated. She picked up a berry off the ground and cupped it in her hands. The berry sprouted hair - long, flowing, beautiful hair that fell right through her fingers, much as she imagined Lew's might.

"At least," Hermione amended, "that's the first I remember. After I got my letter, my parents said they had wondered about me a lot - for example, apparently they used to find me crawling on the kitchen counter, with no visible means of arriving there. Once, after my hamster had apparently died, I came out of my room with it squealing in my hands, resurrected."

Lew smiled. "Why am I not surprised that you raised the dead accidentally as a child?"

Hermione's lip twisted. "Of course I probably didn't," she corrected quickly.

"No, no, what I mean is... you're an incredibly powerful witch. I've often wondered what the raw magical talent is capable of, without training or concrete... direction. Perhaps training... perhaps it's a double-edged sword. In other words, maybe your studiousness isn't the gift you suppose, in terms of raw power."

Hermione was taken aback. "An interesting idea, but how could you test it?"

"I'm an Animagus- a raven, which you know. In my animal form, I just... I feel differently. When I turn back, sometimes the first spell I cast is... less controlled. That's why I've been casting with raw wands - I'm trying to capture the essence of my magic."

Hermione was caught in her eyes. She took a quick breath, finding that breathing steadied the room considerably. "That's what you are, you know," she said quietly. "Raw. So intense."

Something passed between them then, and it hung in the air for the rest of the day's training. Ron was in the cabin when they returned, and after eating, Lew went out. The feeling went with her, and Hermione was left with Ron all night.

* * *

><p><em>The hag cackled at her, features grotesquely deformed in the filtered light. Suddenly Lew, black hair swinging, appeared on a broomstick. She considered the hag for a few long seconds, and then deliberately took out her wand. "Crucio!"<em>

Hermione woke abruptly, sweating. She rolled on to her stomach, cupping her chin. It was a Sunday, and the noon light filled the otherwise empty cabin. Rest day. She must have fallen asleep. Then she looked at the clock, starting. 12:10. She was ten minutes late.

When she arrived at the mess hall, Harry'd just sat down with a plate piled with cobs of corn. He got up quickly at the sight of her. "Figured you'd forgotten about me," he said apologetically.

"I fell asleep and didn't set an alarm. Sorry." She hugged him impulsively, suddenly realizing how nice it felt to just touch another human being. Not like Ron, with his stifling sweaty hands and undue expectations... Just a friend. Hermione remembered what it'd been like to touch Ron before they'd started dating. It'd been... better.

When she broke the hug, Harry looked at her closely. "You alright?" he asked seriously.

"Pretty alright," she shrugged. They wandered to the open kitchen, where a scowling house-elf sat on a stool, dangling his feet. "Hello, Pippin," she greeted him. He grunted. She forced a smile. "What've you got today?" she asked, guessing it was potatoes and corn on the cob.

"You know, you don't have to eat the nasties. He always burns the potatoes..." Harry hissed at her when they got far enough away. "And I think he puts chili powder on the cottage greens, too," he added, piling on the incriminating evidence.

Hermione shook her head. She'd given up trying to convince Harry long ago; she figured Ron's wizardly upbringing had infected Harry's opinion on all house-elves but Dobby. Now she was waiting for a breakthrough, biding her time. S.P.E.W. would soon experience a revival.

She poked at her greens. Finally, she looked up. "Tell me about what happened with Ron the other night."

"Not before you tell me what's bothering you," he said, and waited.

"Well... him. To start out with, he's being an insensitive prat. He usually is, but... he's not even trying." She sighed. "We never talk. He doesn't care, or doesn't want to know, about anything I'm doing."

Harry shook his head, agreeing. "But you know this is hard for him. He's been a good sport the whole yaer, and he's just... sort of unfocused right now. You can't blame him."

Hermione nodded. "It's too bad the Council wouldn't let us start training the year later, so we could be with him," she said. "I offered to quit it completely, but you know Ron..."

"I do," Harry said, and Hermione's heart broke for him. Ron had been ambivalent about his time with Harry, but Hermione knew it would just have reminded Harry of the friend he'd lost.

"Maybe in a few years, when he feels like he's on equal footing again," she said, trying to comfort him.

Harry shook his head. "Were we ever on equal footing, the three of us? Will we ever be?"

"Well, you've no more advantage fighting the remaining Deatheaters than he does, now," she pointed out. Harry allowed himself to be comforted, ironically at the thought that he was vulnerable. He finally picked up his corn.

"What's it that qualifies a person to be Slytherin?" Hermione asked suddenly. "We know they're not all pureblood, or necessarily evil, or even interested in Dark Magic -" here she cut herself off, remembering her dream.

Harry was puzzled by this change in topic. "Well, where your strengths lie, what you chose to pursue," he listed. "I guess Slytherins persue power with less... um, finesse, or... scruples. D'you know, the Hat seriously considered putting me in Slytherin?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Regrets it to this day." He grinned at that.

"God, how different Hogwarts would've been. I wonder, would you have defeated Voldemort?" She picked up one of his pieces of corn.

Harry shrugged. "Guess we'll never know," he said, and seemed content with that.

Hermione leaned forward. "Tell me about Mercy. How's it been, locked up with her the last two weeks?"

Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

><p>Hermione had never been very good at making friends, particularly female friends. Before Hogwarts, she'd only had one good friend, John. They'd spent every lunch hour making up strategy games and then playing them. Then there was Hogwarts, and Harry, and then Ron, and of course Viktor Krum, who despite his romantic interest was essentially a very good friend. She'd developed her female-friend skills a little as her schooling progressed, but she found herself always going to the boys for anything real - as if her female friends were there as fluff, more to prove she could than because she wanted to.<p>

But Lew blew that barrier wide open. Hermione learned quickly to relax around her, finding in her presence companionship without expectation. Lew was unimpressed by Hermione's glamorous past. More than that, she had a keen intelligence; Hermione found herself matched by Lew's knowledge, and often surprised at her intuition. She had no secrets, though many mysteries, and Hermione found the combination intriguing. She sensed that something very important happened in the six years since California that changed Lew fundamentally, but she wasn't really sure whether she wanted to know what it was - or whether, when she knew, she would ever be able to treat Lew the same again.

Two weeks after she began training with Lew, Ron got his acceptance letter. He celebrated by ignoring Hermione for two days; it was Harry who mentioned it. She was standing at the dirt mound when Ron arrived the next day, and the argument could be heard faintly on a nearby peak.

The next day, Lew asked Hermione about her parents. "You never talk to them, do you, Mio?" she noted. She'd started using that nickname recently; it only vaguely resembled "Hermione," but it was much better than some nicknames she'd acquired.

Hermione closed her eyes. They were in the forest; it was a game of hide-and-go-seek with 20 squirrels, notes attached to their backs. They engaged in it disinterestedly, though Hermione took the opportunity of snatching the squirrels with her magic to take out some of her tension about the Ron situation. "I altered their memories before leaving Hogwarts, to protect them. They're in Australia now; I visited them last year, but they seemed so satisfied and happy... I couldn't give them back their daughter, only to worry them and never visit them, and perhaps only to take her away again, in death."

"So they don't know you exist," Lew said. Hermione nodded, a soft sadness in her face. "Squirrel!" Lew interrupted the moment, clenching her fist and then jerking it toward her. The sighted squirrel flew in the air toward them.

Hermione shook her head at the display of power. "Be gentler," she said, catching the squirrel midair with her wand and lowering it, screaming, to the ground, ignoring the fact that she'd done the same thing ten minutes before.

Lew rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>That night, somewhere towards morning, Lew's shaking woke Hermione. She woke easily, instantly alert, and approached Lew's bed to wake her. She'd done this every night for the last few weeks, and usually it was only a matter of shaking the witch's shoulder and falling back asleep. But this night, she paused above Lew's bed. The other woman's face was eerily serene in the moonlight, and her body's jerking was slowing. The seizure appeared to have passed.<p>

Instead of waking her, Hermione hesitated, then slipped down to lay next to her in the bed, careful not to touch her. An unfamiliar sensation was coursing through her, and she allowed the feeling to fill her body. She reached out her hand, bringing it close to the woman's face, hovering in the air. Then she touched her face, feather-light and careful.

Lew snapped into motion, her arms twisting to throw Hermione across the room. The last few yards were assisted by her magic, and then Hermione collapsed in the corner, caught totally by surprise but feeling somehow guilty. The pain hit a second later, and she scrambled up, facing Lew in the darkened room.

Maybe Dumbledore was wrong about the dreams, after all... Lew rose from her bed slowly, like a predator, and took a few steps toward her. "Lew," Hermione whispered, terrified.

Then Lew relaxed. "Mio?" she said. "Shit, is that you?"

"Yes," Hermione said, and found herself swept up in Lew's arms.

"I'm so sorry," she said simply, but she was shaking and her body was wet and cold. After a few moments, she said, "Shit, there's only two things that are keeping me on the ground - my determination, and you. Please understand that." She pulled back and looked at Hermione's face.

Being the subject of Lew's focused attention always made her heart race, but with Lew so close the sensation was almost unbearably intense. She felt Lew's breath on her face, smelling of spearmint and raw carrots, and almost fainted. "I won't let you go," Hermione said, and, as if to emphasize that point, clutched on to her in a bizarre reversal.

Lew broke the embrace first, but only to lead Hermione to her bed. Neither ready to sleep alone, they clutched each other until the sun rose, wordless but unbelievably aware.

The next day was group exercise, the last before Harry and Jonah left to train in the real world. Lew and Hermione were scheduled to stay another few days after that. Neither had any clue as to what they'd be doing thereafter.

Hermione took the opportunity to avoid Lew. She didn't look at her once during the exercises, which were essentially a review of everything they'd done before, and for lunch she sat with Harry and he gave her the run-down on what he and Mercy were doing. Apparently they were going around the world to acquaint Harry with Mercy's contacts, some legitimate and some... not.

"She's so beautiful," Harry whispered, leaning across the table. Hermione jumped, thinking he was talking about Lew. "And she keeps giving me hints. I don't know how I'm going to handle another two years, Hermione..." She finally relaxed, realizing he was talking about Mercy.

"Well, you're still with Ginny," Hermione reminded him factually. "Do you think you could love Mercy? If you don't, stay with Ginny. If you could, and you're attracted to her..."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think I could love her. Which is exactly the problem, I feel like a... a shallow git."

Hermione shrugged. "Well, you are."

Into that awkward pause entered Ron, who sat heavily on the bench next to them. For a moment it felt like the last three years had been a dream and they were still at Hogwarts, served by the resident house-elves, eating between classes. She supposed that might have something to do with the fact that she was consistently practicing magic again, and part of it was that she, for almost the first time in a year, was actually berating her friends.

And they were all together, in a casual, everyday way. "Are what?" Ron asked, without real curiosity.

Hermione checked with Harry, then shook her head. "I was just saying he was a git for not enjoying poor Pippin's cooking."

Ron made a face and gesticulated at his own plate. "Can't blame him, Hermione," he said when he got around a bite. "This stuff is pretty awful."

* * *

><p>"God," Ron said, "am I exhausted." He was sprawled on his bed.<p>

"Well, here's your food," Hermione said, dropping a packet of hot cakes on the bed. "Is this your way of dismissing me?"

"Um," Ron said, staring at the ceiling.

Hermione felt a slow fury building in her. "You've only been training for two days," she pointed out, keeping her voice level. "Can you just imagine how you'll feel in a week? A month?"

Ron sat up. "Ugh, I know. Maybe you'd bring me some ice?"

Hermione turned from him in exasperation, then spun. "Ron Weasley... Could you tell me the first time I knew I was a witch?"

Ron stared at her blankly. "I don't see what that has to do with ice?" he said.

"It doesn't. Forget it. You never brought me ice - and only brought me food once. It's not like I don't have better things to do than wait on you!"

He finally got it. "You're mad at me," he observed wonderingly.

"Yeah, I am," she spat.

"Slow down, slow down, give a fella half a chance," he said, sitting up. "If you don't wanna bring me things, just say."

"Oh, it is so much more than that," she said, almost menacingly.

"Is it now," he said, and she knew he'd extended his own metaphorical claws. They hadn't fought seriously - really fought at all - since last year, worried they'd say too much perhaps. The bond that tied them together was too tenuous.

"Can you tell me?" she said, knowing he couldn't. He'd never asked, taking magic for granted in a way she never would. How was it that Lew understood that part of her in two weeks, when Ron still didn't after nine years of friendship?

"How should I know? That's your own business," he offered.

"Then how do I know what yours was?"

"Because you pay so much bloody attention it'd kill a chicken."

Hermione had to choke her giggle at that. The connections Ron made... "So first it's not enough attention, and now it's too much?" He shrugged. "Ron, why don't we ever talk?"

"We talk plenty. What's meant by talking, anyway?"

"Alright... sometimes we open our mouths, but only about... stupid stuff. Doesn't anything more sophisticated than the latest Quidditch match permeate your brain's outer covering? That being your skull," she clarified, not that Ron even knew about the neocortex.

"Hey, that's supportive, I finally get my dream of being the Quidditch captain and you're mocking it?"

"Is that all I am for you? Support and attention? How much of that would you say I got, the average day?"

"Look, that's not what I'm saying."

Hermione wasn't paying attention. She'd realized something. "You know what it is, Ronald? You have no ambition."

"Sure, because only getting into about the hardest training program in the world, only passing six N.E.W.T.S., that's really... nothing." Hermione thought of Lew, who was only there because of her nightmares, and of herself, who could have passed without studying halfway through her fifth year. "Even though that's all I thought about last year, all I tried for, except Quidditch." He looked pitiful, but was attempting with all his heart a fair "indignant."

"I mean..." Hermione shook her head slowly. "Ron, I love you how you are," she finished, hoping that'd be enough.

"You know, Hermione, I have dignity, too." His fight was coming back. "You know how many girls I've turned down for you? I'm a hot commodity."

Hermione scoffed, her fury reignited. "What, I should be grateful you're still around? If you're so curious about being with somebody else..."

"Maybe I am!" He stood up.

"We should break up, then," Hermione said, as if that was the logical conclusion. Ron looked confused. "Neither of us are happy, obviously..."

"Is that what you came here to do? Break up with me? Drag me into an argument..." He lapsed into speechlessness, sputtering.

"Of course not! I came to give you... give you the food." She gestured at the package on his bed, and suddenly the momentum of the moment dissipated, and she needed to escape.

"So we'll just forget it then?" He trailed off, confused, as she pushed past him, eyes averted.

She muttered, "I'll see you tomorrow," and closed the door behind her.

The fresh cold air was welcome, and she walked briskly into the night toward her own cabin, holding her jacket. The full moon lit the clearing, and when her eyes adjusted it seemed as light as day. The absence of artificial lights only made the stars glimmer more brightly.

She was shaking when she reached the cabin, but though her skin was cold she felt a strange urgency, a desperation that kept her moving past the door of her cabin and toward the forest. She skirted its edges, holding her wand in her pocket, and then deposited her jacket on a stump and started jogging through the trees. The moonlight through the forest canopy made it difficult to pick out rough areas on the ground, so she shortened her stride and kept her eyes lowered.

The tumult of her emotions eventually quieted under the steady rhythm of her own movement. She figured she'd gone almost a mile into the forest when she slowed to a walk again, feeling her tension like her sweat coat her externally, and then evaporate into the air. She stripped off the light sweater she was still wearing, baring her arms to the chill air.

The energy of the forest was different from the Auror headquarters, and Hermione finally realized why Lew took such long runs. She felt irrationally safer here, as if being only one of the many creatures of the forest granted safety in numbers. Fancying herself as dangerous as the wolves that prowled here, as any creature of the woods, she glimpsed ahead of her an empty meadow. She stalked towards it.

When she emerged from the trees she was once again surprised by the brightness of the night. Each detail of the meadow was vividly clear. Standing there, she felt a fierce wildness in her heart, a need to open herself to the beauty and majesty of the forest. She threw back her head, opening her arms to the sky.

It wasn't enough. She pulled off her shirt, too, and when she looked up she saw a figure in the center of the meadow, with huge sweeping wings, hovering above a swell in the ground. It landed softly, and she realized she needed to be on that hill - more, to be closer to the creature she saw there. It was beautiful, completely naked, clawed and scaly legs dainty, and its mouth was moving soundlessly. A woman - a harpy, she realized with part of her mind.

She reached the swell, and the harpy touched her face softly, cupping it, lips moving, eyes full of expression. Hermione felt a deep longing touch her, a longing to be a part of the wilderness forever, to dissipate into the coldly burning sky - to become a part of this woman, this harpy, and roam the skies with her...

Her fingers slipped into her pocket. "Silencio," she whispered.

The haze lifted slowly, and Hermione was barely aware that the harpy's expression had slipped into one of fury before she felt its claws sink into her neck and face. She pulled out her wand, pain bringing the world into focus. "Impedimenta," she said, and stepped back out of its reach. It stumbled as it reached for her, but the spell wasn't very strong.

She took another step back, raising her wand. "Pulsus Aeris!" she cast, the force of the spell pushing her backwards another step. The wall of air that rushed from her wand missed the harpy's body and instead hit one of its wings, spinning and finally toppling it.

"Please leave this place," Hermione said clearly. "I don't want to hurt you."

The harpy scrambled up and, throwing one last look over its shoulder, took flight. Hermione watched it until it disappeared over the trees before lighting her wand and finding her discarded shirt and sweater. She clumsily healed the deepest of the claw marks on her face, and then trudged back to the compound, the magic of the moonlight totally dispelled.


	4. Chapter 4

_For nearly four days I convinced myself that the only reason I lay in that bed with Lew was that we were both scared, and like childhood friends we held each other for comfort. I forgot how perfectly I nestled into her body, how her smell filled my chest and overflowed into my panties, how tremblingly close my lips were to her collarbone. It was a perfect moment, and yet so saturated with blinding desperate desire that it physically hurt. There was no way I could continue life as normal, and still retain the memory of that moment. So I pushed it into the back of my mind, where it festered. I was too morally aware to allow myself to have those feelings. Yet they could not be denied, and if I could not allow my mind or even my aching heart to remember, her lightest touch made my body remember, and stopping myself from acting on my body's need was like trying to stop a river from flowing. The dam would only hold for so long._

**Ch 4 **

Though most badly injured Aurors ended up in St. Mungo's, Grasia had a resident Healer. Hermione considered waking him to heal her face, but exhaustion brought her to her cabin, which she hadn't entered since the night before. She'd hoped to sleep at Ron's, successfully avoiding Lew for the entire day, but returning to her own brought a sense of safety and comfort that Ron's cabin couldn't have, especially after their fight.

She hadn't realized she was numb until she opened the cabin's door. The warmth of the single room inside welcomed her, and she thought it strange that she could have embraced the freezing cold as she had, suddenly desperate to dispell it completely from her body. She crawled into bed fully clothed, shuddering a little under the covers. Crookshanks jumped up and immediately settled himself on her chest.

She thought of the blood on her face, undoubtedly leaking onto her sheets, and then promptly forgot it as she heard Lew stirring in the bed across the room.

"Hermione," she finally whispered. She thought it sounded like Lew was caressing the word with her tongue, being careful to prounounce every sylable with careful warmth mixed with apology.

"Do you know any skin-healing spells?"

Lew sat up abruptly. "A few, are you hurt?" She flipped on her light, and then cursed fluently and lept to Hermione's side. Crookshanks took flight. "What happened to you?"

Hermione acquiesced to her ministrations, somehow unsurprised that Lew's hands and wandwork were skillful, even at this task so unfamiliar to most wizards. She stayed quiet, letting Lew concentrate, keeping her blankets on her shoulders.

By the time Lew had finished, the cold had mostly seeped out of her bones. "A harpy, I think. It sang," she said, letting confusion creep into her voice. Lew's care had relaxed her, but now that Lew had stopped and was paying attention to what she was saying, her previous mixture of distain and fear pushed to the surface again. The intensity of Lew's gaze brought a memory with it, which she forcibly suppressed - the heady feeling of Lew's body against hers, motionless but full of tension.

"Harpies don't usually sing, those are the Siren. I've never heard of a Siren this far inland, though."

"I know it was a harpy," Hermionie said, frustrated. "The body was one hundred percent harpy."

Lew sensed her tension and backed down. "Was it a Siren's song?"

Hermione considered, drawing on her knowledge of the song. "I'm fairly certain the Siren's song is just heartbreakingly beautiful. This song, I think... I think it was closer to an enchantment, because I couldn't hear it, and all it did was draw me closer to the harpy."

"Yes, that was stupid of me. A Siren would never claw your face, either."

Hermione was intrigued. "Wouldn't it?"

"No," Lew said. "I met a Siren once. A sea creature, so beautiful you couldn't believe, and she muted her song for me. So that I wouldn't be caught by it and refuse to eat, refuse to leave." She grinned, her eyes somewhere far away. "She wrote her messages to me in the sand of her island. All about it were bones, deep in the sea, but none recent. I was there to collect Sirenshair, and fully expected to kill her to get it, but she sheared her head for me, begged me to take it from her. So I did."

"What did you need Sirenshair for?" Hermione was trying to remember which potions required it; they were all highly advanced and specific.

"Oh, I didn't need it. I was - I was on commission for Gringotts'. My job," she grinned again, sheepishly this time. "I was a specialist of the sea, always wished I could turn into something that swam. I'm stuck with the raven, though. At least I can fly."

Something clicked. "That's what you were doing on the sea the day I saw you, isn't it?"

Lew nodded. "I'm not proud of it," she said, with an air of defensiveness.

"What, stealing things from helpless non-wizards? Killing them and looting their corpses?" Hermione said, but without her usual indignance. There was something about the way Lew held herself that made her feel like it wasn't her place to judge.

Lew shrugged. "I'm here now, aren't I? Magical law enforcement and all."

Hermione sat up, inviting Lew to sit next to her on the bed. Lew did so. "You know, there's something I just thought of. I remembered you used the Cruciatus Curse on... when you dueled that witch in Santa Cruz."

Lew was even more sheepish. "I don't remember, but I suppose I might have. I went through a phase of experimentation with Dark Magic." She shifted. "You can't tell me you've never used an Unforgivable?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've never, but Harry has. But he only used them when it was the only option! There are a million other curses you could have used." Her accusation was unabashed.

Lew didn't notice, lost in a reverie. Suddenly she shook herself, looking at Hermione with intensity. "Let me explain. I'd left school two years before, just came of age at seventeen. I'd been with Gringott's for most of those two years, and I had this friend. His father was a Death Eater, but he... was incredibly intelligent. He opened intellectual doors for me, so that when it came to Dark Magic, I was thinking that it'd just be another thing he... had some insight into, you know? So I experiemented with him." A shadow passed over her face. "He just kept getting worse, more into Dark Magic, meaner. But in the early days, he was... a good friend."

She squinted, an expression Hermione recognized as a conversation-stopper. Unexpectedly, however, by some force of will she continued. "Dumbledore kept saying I can't deny who he used to be. I guess he knows about those things, you know?"

Hermione nodded, thinking of Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and then of Draco Malfoy and of the many wizards who did unspeakable acts under the Imperius Curse.

Then she wondered, with a horrible sinking feeling, if there had been more than friendship between the Dark wizard and Lew. When the lights were out and the room was quiet, the question lingered on her tongue, unspoken, drowning out any worries of Ron and their first-ever "together" fight, or thoughts of her near-fatal encounter with the harpy.

* * *

><p>The next day didn't break as much as creep up. The sky changed overnight into a black blanket, and day wrought only slow degrees of brightness on it, peaking at noon in a white haze. There was tension in the air, as if the sky was holding its breath.<p>

Hermione woke with an empty feeling. She rushed outside to stand on the tiny porch, but Harry'd already left with Mercy. Though she's said goodbye the evening before, she felt a loneliness settle in her. A phase of life was ending, and she wasn't sure what would follow it. The only certain thing was that she would enter it alone.

She stood there until the sky snuck a breath, showering the landscape with tiny droplets of rain. Then she ducked inside, more to save her pajamas than because she wanted to be there. The precious shelter of the previous night had become a prison.

Lew was probably still running, which left Hermione with a few hours before they started drilling again. But she was restless, impatiently putting aside her translation of Beedle, picking up an article she was writing for the Quibbler and then just as quickly discarding it, too. She was suddenly disgusted with academia.

She ended up leaving the cabin just as Lew was winding down from her run. They greeted each other distantly, and Hermione made her way to the Temp Quarters. There was a retired Auror in the common room, but she knew him to be slightly senile and so left quickly, a little disappointed.

Most of the training was individual for that day. They'd finally been given an instructions manual, undoubtedly highly modified, and had almost mastered every technique in it already. Hermione had found herself tutoring Lew in a few of the spells, ones she'd read about or already practiced. This was a position Hermione found herself in often - what was different was that Lew was able to help her in return.

But all that had already happened, and now they were sitting on the floor, facing opposite walls, practicing spells they'd only just learned about the week before. Hermione was fighting to conjure a messenger Patronus, finding the task especially difficult today. She never really knew what happy thought to use. The memory of she, Harry, and Ron together, unified, was out of the question, though she sentimentally tried anyway. Her parents just seemed so far away. She was dipping into her memories of Viktor Krum when a brisk knock on the door sounded.

It was Ron. He pulled her outside, face red, and she realized it must be lunchtime. The sky was like black paint sloppily mixed with milk, bathing everything in a vague white color.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" he said distractedly.

"A day from tomorrow, yes," she said, biting back unwarranted harsh words.

He focused back on her. "D'you really think we should... you know... Bloody hell, Hermione, what happened to your face?"

She shrugged it off. "Unimportant. Ron, let's break up."

He nodded, and she felt a great weight lift off her. Though she didn't try to conjure Patronuses anymore, she had the feeling that if she could identify exactly why she was so happy, her graceful otter would jump onto her fingertips with nary an incantation.

* * *

><p>When Hermione first walked the corridors of Hogwarts by herself, she came upon a portrait on the walls. She'd stopped, transfixed by the expression on the woman's face. Serene, watchful, with a gleaming tiara atop her dark red hair, she seemed the embodiment of majesty. Hermione imagined that it must be a princess, or maybe a queen, but there was no explanatory plaque under the portrait so she was left wondering; certainly the picture wouldn't tell her, although Hermione had asked it, surreptitiously.<p>

In her near-daily pilgrimages to the school library, she made it a habit to pause at the picture, to study it for several minutes before hurrying off, hoping nobody had noticed her. She'd only seen the woman in it move a few times, just to adjust her hair, carefully, full of dignity.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, she'd visited it, half-afraid it'd been taken down by the school's new dictatorship. The sight of it had renewed her hope, allowed her to hold on even when it seemed everything was lost, with Harry's limp body parading before them.

When she visited Hogwarts last year, she tried to show it to Ron. He was unimpressed, and didn't even seem to notice her deep embarrassment. She was somewhat relieved by this.

Only one thing had affected her as deeply as that portrait. She'd always acted the supportive role to Harry and Ron when it came to Quidditch, but one day she bumped into a Ravenclaw player the morning before a match. Something about the player was compelling to her, even attractive; she couldn't remember anybody who'd caught her eye like that before. She vaguely recognized the student, but she'd never spoken to him. Griffindor wasn't playing, but she hadn't had anything to do, so she brought her book to the game. She then spent the next two and a half hours rapt, watching him whack Bludger after Bludger at Slytherin players.

At the end of the game, she'd nudged a Ravenclaw near her and asked, "What's his name?"

She'd looked confused. "You mean Virginia Roches?"

Hermione had avoided walking near the Ravenclaw table for a year after that.

And that huge, covered mirror she and Ron had found, in the summer before their fifth year in Sirus's house - the mirror Ron had identified as the Mirror of Erised, and warned her away from - the mirror she had, before he'd pulled the curtain back over with a longing look, caught a glimpse into...

Sitting at a desk in the library now, her quill forgotten in her hand, she pulled together lost pieces of her life. She saw how they matched up, with broken edges and fragmented repressed memories, into a horrifying picture. A picture she'd denied repeatedly, but for this short moment could no longer refute.

She shook the thought off and picked up the strain of her writing again. The next day she and Lew would leave together, and now was not the time.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Hermione woke on dusty soil, surrounded by drying husks of grass. She moved her body slowly, senses alert, gripping her wand with white knuckles. Lew opened her eyes cautiously beside her.<p>

They appeared to be in a huge open plain with sparse grass. A rising chill wind howled in some shallow hills. If the rising sun was any judge of direction, those were to the west, while some bare trees languished to the south. And there wasn't much else.

Except a single, small piece of parchment. It read:

"You have ten days."

"That's easily enough time to starve," Hermione said after a pause, a little panicky. Lew nodded vaguely, her blue eyes flashing everywhere. In this barren place, her freakish red scar stood out starkly, and her wordlessness only served to intensify Hermione's fear. "Gamp s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, the exceptions - "

"I know," Lew said, still distant. "BIDES - Being, Individual, Distance, Existant, Subsistence."

Hermione began pacing. "I doubt there are any mushrooms around here..."

That got Lew's attention. She looked at Hermione, eyes dancing. "You a particular fan?"

"Not exactly, they were essentially the only thing I could find two years ago, Ron, Harry and I were hiding out for most of that year you know, but we usually just ate Muggle food, we always paid but discreetly, and did you know Harry's cloak - "

Lew dropped to a squat abruptly, with a look. Hermione reflexively followed, heart racing.

"See, these are rabbit tracks, and over here, some deer."

Hermione pushed Lew, realizing she'd been had. Lew collapsed, laughing and scrambling halfheartedly away from Hermione's continued plummeling. "Here, here, over here's an eensy mushroom spore... here..." She offered her empty hands to Hermione, who redoubled her attacks.

Fury spent, Hermione rolled over to lay beside Lew, who was panting with tongue extended, like a dog. She stared up at the morning sky, feeling suddenly at peace. Lew would somehow hunt for food, and she would spend her time conjuring shelter for what promised to be a very cold night.

Hermione hated to admit that while Lew was a decent cook with the materials at hand, those being a magical fire and some very battered, very thin pokers, her stomach was weak for anything she saw in its original form. The moment Lew swaggered into view, three fresh rabbits hanging from a string, Hermione knew she wouldn't have much of an appetite.

Lew was still apologizing as they pulled the thin blankets up to their chins, huddled under a small tarp. The warmth spell Hermione had cast on her own was woefully inadequate, but she'd never practiced conjuring a blanket except just once; even the NEWTs didn't anticipate wizards in situations like these.

And suddenly they were silent together, the sky a brilliant chorus, no opposing element interposing itself to muffle the ringing sound of the moon and stars. Was it only two nights ago she was facing down a harpy?

Lew shifted awkwardly, breaking the moment. Hermione's mind raced. "Tell me about school in America."

It was a question she'd been meaning to ask, but it sounded somehow inadequate now. How many years had Lew been out of school? Eight? Almost half of Hermione's lifetime? But she needed to break the silence.

She could almost hear Lew fumbling for words. "In terms of comparison with Hogwarts?"

"Well... Yes, I guess. You said you left school when you were fifteen, why did you leave?"

"Money, pretty simply." Lew propped herself up on her elbow facing Hermione. "Hogwarts has grants and stuff. 'The Greatest Wizarding School in the world.'" Her voice was a little mocking. "I guess it comes down to politics, in the end... America has fewer wizards, thus its Department of Magic is less influential, there's nothing like a London of America or anything, so there's just less money floating around in general. No economy, all the smart and/or rich wizards end up in Europe."

Hermione nodded. She already knew there were fewer wizards in America proportionately. Though she was Muggleborn, she accepted the fact that magic ran in families to a certain extent. She was personally a follower of the theory that fewer wizardly families ended up in America because wizards were notoriously hidebound and uninterested in immigration. The idea that wizards were afraid of Muggles due to the Salem witch trial catastrophe was laughable.

"Wasn't it a little early to leave, though?" she pressed.

"No way. Gringotts took me on just based on my OWLs."

"You have the same system of tests there?"

Lew shook her head. "You're not getting it. America's like a... like a desert as far as magical people go. We just have enough import-ees from Britian to keep our beasts in check. You saw how I had to deal with that nut-case six years ago; the Department of Magic specifically contacted me about keeping an eye on her, they're so short on help. A system of school-testing is hardly the only thing we stole from you guys."

Hermione soaked it in. "So how many schools are there?"

"Just the one. Academy of Alchemy, it's a fucking joke. Near Salt Lake City, which is another joke."

"No way. There have to be more... more Muggle-born than that, let alone..." Hermione had the figure of 300 million in her head - the population of the U.S.

"I told you, the ones who can afford even a plane ticket over the ocean go somewhere else. Shit, I think South America has like three schools itself, they're probably better than AA." Lew flashed a brilliant grin at her, and Hermione had the feeling she was missing something.

"Where are you from originally, then?" Hermione was distracted by the second reference to Lew's impoverished upbringing.

"New Orleans." She pronounced it "or-lens," emphasizing the "or."

"Seriously? The birthplace of jazz?"

"Yeas, M'am," Lew drawled. Then she smiled again, switching back to her normal voice. "You are the most worldly witch I've ever met, Miss Granger."

Hermione blushed, unduly flattered. Her mind flashed to "Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches," which she had found under Ron's bed at the Burrow accidentally. She was sure that "worldly" was nowhere in it, unless it was in the "No's" section. But from Lew it seemed the greatest compliment.

"Thanks," she said, shivering inadvertently. She felt Lew notice, almost comment, and then revise her comment.

"Shit, you were just out the other night in the freezing cold too." She pulled off her own blanket. "You should have this thing too, if I get cold I can just shift."

By "shift" Hermione understood her to mean "shape-shift." She was still trying to work out which phrases were American and which Lew's unique dialect. This one she suspected was homegrown Lew.

Nervousness surged through her. "I think... they're big enough for both of us," she offered. Lew paused in arranging her blanket on top of Hermione's. Everything Hermione thought to say seemed either too pitiful or else entirely unnecessary, so for once in her life she bit her tongue and waited.

Lew shook her head slowly. "Mio, I hate to break this to you, but I'm a lesbian."

The world narrowed a bit more. "That has nothing to do with it," she whispered.

Lew considered this. "If you insist," she said softly, but she didn't move. Hermione's vision, and most of her extremities, were throbbing in time with her heartbeat. "Are you sure?"

Hermione realized that she hadn't been breathing. "Yes," she gasped. And Lew finally lifted the blankets and slipped under them, carefully avoiding touching Hermione at all.

A sea of calm fell over Hermione. Her simple desperation to actualize this moment faded into numb satisfaction. Rather than intensifying, the tumult of physical difficulties stilled with Lew's closeness, with her acquiescence. Her head was swimming, but she wrote that off to near-asphyxiation. She also pushed aside any thoughts about this new revelation, except to simply thank the patron saint of "My Friend Wasn't With An Asshole." Lew deserved better than the Dark wizard she'd spoken of last week.

In this warm cocoon, sleep found Hermione quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

_I hadn't realized it, but after I broke up with Ron the barriers I had unconsciously constructed fell, and I found myself truly able to just appreciate her presence, the sound of her voice, the subtleties of her body's communication. I tuned into her like a radio, and my heart thrummed to her beat. I finally stopped rejecting my reactions to her, and when I did that the fear fell away, and I began to trust her. I had eyes only for her. It's too bad we had only a few days._

* * *

><p>Ch 5<p>

Her raven's wings beat gracefully, and she soared much higher than true ravens dared or wished to. The landscape was vague beneath her, but that made no difference; all she needed to find was civilization of any kind.

'There's no point in staying around, Mio,' the raven thought to itself. 'This will take a while.'

'Where are we?' Hermione thought, ignoring Lew.

'The middle of nowhere, who cares?'

'This isn't England, or probably anywhere in Europe. I don't recognize any of the plants here.'

'And not in North America either. We went over this.' Hermione was surprised that Lew's thoughts betrayed no impatience; she was calm and focused, and uncharacteristically utterly unruffled.

'Yes, but... this is important.'

Lew was silent. It'd been four days, and they'd been practicing a "sharing consciousness" technique and using Lew's raven form to scout. This was the farthest she'd gone so far, and Hermione could feel fatigue setting into Lew's arm/wings, but the more Lew roamed the more puzzled they got; there were no people at all, even 100 miles away from where they had been dropped. No highways, no rivers, not even dirt roads that Lew could see.

Hermione entertained the thought that she'd prefer to have Lew back with her, or at least where her body was, than flying around in what looked like a useless exercise. Sometimes friendship is hurt by isolation, but theirs had grown even deeper. Hermione began missing Lew almost immediately after they parted. It was like they were gears made to fit each other.

There were parts of her that wanted to just sit and listen to Lew talk for hours. At the same time, she had an incredible desire to talk to Lew, because when she did, she felt her world changing. Lew understood everything in a very different way, and this new perspective occasionally frightened Hermione with its darkness. Reevaluation became a habit, and as each challenged the other's understanding, their worlds became wider, and intertwined.

Lew also understood her very differently than anybody else had. Her self-image had always been based on what others thought they saw in her. Yet when Lew looked at her, she saw something very different. Hermione realized that part of the difference lay in the fact that Lew understood her absent of her intelligence. What was it that Professor Lupin parted ways with her saying? "You're the cleverest witch of your age I've ever met." Certainly none of her friends had ever forgotten that Hermione was quicker than them; with the fate of the world crushing Harry, he couldn't afford to ignore it. Ron challenged her intelligence, but ineptly.

Lew took it for granted that they were on an equal footing. Hermione knew that the world would probably be a much darker place had she never befriended the Boy Who Lived, that it was often her intelligence that saved Harry, and thereby the rest of the world. Perhaps Lew did too, but it was obvious that she'd met plenty of other people who had just as vital a role in Voldemort's defeat. Lew treated her like Lew treated everyone, and somehow that was incredibly freeing. It gave her the space to define herself in different ways.

'Mio, maybe I should just go back there. I don't see a goddamn thing.'

Hermione smiled to herself. 'How much of that could you hear?'

'A word here and there. It's just a little weird.'

'Yeah. Well, we still don't know where we are. '

'This isn't helping us figure it out, though. And I'd like to be back there.' Hermoine wondered if she was imagining the thread of deep emotion in Lew's voice. Was her raven form even capable of that sort of emotion?

She certainly wasn't trying to conceal any of her feelings when she said, 'Then come.'

* * *

><p>It was the eighth day when Hermione finally realized where they were. It was dusk, and Lew was crouched over their fire. Hermione was pretending to break the firewood apart, with the aid of one of Mrs. Weasley's spells and her wand. She admitted to herself that she spent more time watching Lew's shoulders ripple as she manipulated the meat on the spit than actually breaking the wood. She loved the way the fire caught Lew's face in relief, and the tank top that Lew had chosen to sleep in. After all, the wood didn't need to be wood chips/...

Lew looked up, catching her in the act. A rare smile lit her face, and Hermione looked down, blushing. "What are you thinking?" Lew asked.

"About you," Hermione admitted, moving to sit on the log they'd been using as a bench, trusting the darkness to cover her deepening blush. "What did you do for the Order? Or is that classified or something?"

Lew's face fell, and then she focused on the fire, narrowing her eyes. Hermione had known that this was going to be a hard conversation, but she'd planned to set it up more. The question had slipped out, and she suddenly regretted it. What was she covering up for, anyway? Maybe her fascination was something she wanted Lew to know.

"You know what, never mind," she said, trying to backpedal. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Lew shrugged, her movement seeming stilted. "I watched the prison of Azkaban from afar. We predicted that there would be a breakout soon, and the Ministry refused to increase security, so that was a task for the less trustworthy of us. It was particuarly suited to me, considering my experience on the sea and the fact that I'm an Animagus, so they liked to put me on that duty. But even Dumbledore didn't predict the dementors switching sides en masse. I was there when it happened."

Hermione shuddered. "That must have been horrible."

Lew nodded slowly. "I failed," she said simply. "I waited too long to be sure that something was happening, and the dementors caught me. Likely the only reason I'm not dead is the Kiss can't be performed on an Animagus in animal form."

Hermione was speechless. She tried to imagine what had happened to Lew, and finding the image too horrific, she then tried to forget it. Every noise of sympathy that came to mind seemed utterly inadequate. Finally she went onto her knees and touched Lew's hand where it rested on her leg, and Lew turned up her hand into Hermione's. Taking that as permission, Hermione moved closer and put her arms around her, slipping her body up against Lew's and putting her cheek against Lew's collarbone. Lew's arm came around Hermione's shoulders, and Hermione relaxed into her, mind still overwhelmed by Lew's story.

After a minute she shuddered. "Did the Order find you?"

Lew's breath caught. "They came for me eventually," she said, and Hermione wondered if she was avoiding something. It seemed deliberately vague.

She pulled away, disentangling to look Lew in the eye. Lew avoided her gaze. "But the Death Eaters found you first," Hermione finished for her, and Lew nodded silently.

It was too much. Hermione bit back a sob, and Lew leaned forward, taking her into her arms again, rubbing her back in small circles. Lew spoke. "I haven't really told anybody about this, anybody who didn't already know. I'm glad you asked." Hermione could feel her shake her head. "I want you to know everything about me."

Hermione composed herself, pulling out of Lew's embrace a little only to settle down against her side. "Thank you for telling me," she said, and then turning her head, she searched Lew's face. "You know you can trust me, right?"

Lew looked at her back, and eventually she shook her head. "Yes, I do, but I don't know why. You're such a good person..." Her lip quirked. "I guess nobody as good as you has ever given me the time of day before this." She dropped her eyes. "It seems like you actually care."

Hermione huffed at that. "Of course I care!" she protested.

Lew pulled away a little. "But why?" she said suddenly, and the question hung in the air for a beat too long.

"You're a good person too, Lew," Hermione deflected.

Lew snorted. "You're possibly one of two people who've ever said those words to me," she said. "The other one quickly learned otherwise."

"You joined the Order, and now you're training to be an Auror. Maybe your... methods are not... totally scrupulous, but your motives..."

"I joined the Order because Gringotts closed all their foreign positions and I had nowhere else to go, Hermione."

"That is the flimsiest excuse I've ever heard," Hermione said fiercely, and stood. "As if you were forced to join an underground movement opposing the rise of a Dark Lord in a foreign country. You can insist that you're an evil, heartless person all you want but I won't believe it until I see it. If you're as evil as you claim you should have joined Voldemort, but you didn't, did you?"

"I'm just trying to warn you," Lew said. "You're..." and there she stopped, eyes searching the fire again. "You're too kind to me, when you have no reason to be."

Hermione shook her head furiously, but could conjure no counterargument. Perhaps Hermione had been imagining virtue where there was little to be found, blinded by Lew's beauty. For a moment she almost entertained the possibility before rejecting it. Lew was clearly troubled, but she had done nothing that warranted suspicion, and her personality was as appealing to Hermione as her looks. Lew had never treated her with anything but respect.

And Lew so clearly needed somebody. "I have every reason to be kind to you, Lew."

Lew looked up at her and something raw flickered behind her eyes. "You need to stop looking at me like that," she said, standing and touching Hermione's hand.

"Like what?" Hermione said, turning into her.

Lew brought up her other hand to cup Hermione's face, turning it up to hers. And then her lips touched Hermione's and the world fell away.

It was barely a brush, but Hermione didn't let Lew escape, moving forward into the touch and parting her lips slightly. When they finally broke apart, Hermione's head was spinning. Lew gripped her neck tightly, resting her temple against Hermione's, her breath in Hermione's ear. "Like you're eating me with your eyes," she said, and it was a moment before Hermione remembered what Lew was talking about.

Hermione was slightly alarmed. "I do not look like that," she protested.

"And for the last two months I've been trying to work out why you would look at me like that," Lew went on. "Because it drives me absolutely mad."

Hermione felt her own fingers clench involuntarily at that last hissing word in her ear, and her left hand slid around Lew's back, bringing their bodies together. "You're so beautiful, Lew," Hermione said. "I can't help but look at you."

"And lay next to me every night so innocently? That too?"

Hermione knew accusation when she heard it. "I - I don't know," she said, drawing back and letting her hands drop to her sides. She looked up at Lew helplessly.

Lew's frown cleared. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -"

"No, you're right. I guess I just didn't realize," Hermione said, rattled. She felt lost in a whirlwind of emotions. Lew had kissed her, and wow. And then in a roundabout way, Lew told her... that she wanted her, really wanted her. Right after telling her that she shouldn't think so highly of Lew. It was all too fast. "Can I just... have a moment?"

Without waiting for a response, Hermione turned away from the fire, walking into the darkness. Little did she know, the darkness had been waiting for her.

The next moment, there was only pain and a heaving, huge, furry body scrambling off hers to face Lew. She had a vague impression of Lew spinning, sword - sword? - in hand. Then there was nothing but waves of pain, breaking over her body in pulsing poisonous tides that centered around her midsection. It was fever, it was delirium, but she could hear Lew scream above the pain, and sudden panic brought back her sight to see Lew standing, one leg in the fire and her sword, hands, and eyes afire.

The wolf was crouched between them. 'Impedimenta,' Hermione thought.

"Impedimenta!" she said with all the strength left in her body, raising her wand.

The wolf froze, and Hermione couldn't see anymore, couldn't breathe, couldn't hear. Hot hands grasped her roughly, then more gently. Soft mumbling came through the haze of torturous pain.

She gasped as her wound was touched, but that wasn't the pain. The pain was in her veins, pumping with every beat of her heart to her every extremity. She forced herself to speak, knowing that it was barely a whisper. "The Fang Weirder of Northern China. Blood-poison, bound to the magic of its fang. Magic... Incantation... Belle efferscenta nervosa. Cut my toes open and pull the poison out!"

She transcended speech into another state of awareness. As her body lost each sense, she felt them wholy, distinctly, but for only a few short seconds. The scent of the fire, of blood, of matted fur, of unwashed human in warm perfection tinged with terror. Lew cursing, the wolf moaning its dying breath, the fire crackling, a knife being drawn. Lew crouched over her, blood staining her shirt, the fire casting her face in an agonized shadow before a single, deft cut.

Lew was chanting. Hermione's body was numb, but distinctly alive. She dared not move, knowing that movement would be intensely painful. She began to be aware of feather touches on her clothes, working their way down her body, pushing the poison out. She struggled to maintain consciousness; Lew's job would be much harder if she passed out. Her muscles painfully cramped in succession, and Hermione recognized this as a good sign although it felt like her body was trying to hurt her now. She could move.

Suddenly her body was taken up, and she heard her own pained moan as if it was somebody else. Every part of her body that moved felt like it had been dunked in hot oil. She was set back down again, and Lew said something indistinctly.

She passed out.


	6. Chapter 6

_I knew that I wanted to hold her, that I wanted to stroke those perfect arms and feel her body against mine, to tangle my fingers in her hair. The feeling that her lips ignited in me was my first indication that I also wanted desperately for her to touch me, to take me and wrack my body with our shared passion. Sometimes I wonder if she would have been more open with me if we had in fact slept together on the Chinese plains, if I had slipped my hand under her shirt and stroked her stomach, breathed in her ear and kissed her neck on that first night, on any of those nights. If our first time was something simple and beautiful, a memory I could cherish, instead of regret._

* * *

><p>Ch 6<p>

Hermione woke with a pounding sensation in her skull and the distinct feeling she'd forgotten something important. The room she was in had a pleasant, rustic woody smell, and she recognized lavender in the air. There was a cauldron boiling over the fire at her feet, and it contributed to the moisture in the air, fogging the windows.

She almost sat up, gasping in pain and collapsing back into the bed. Several things clicked together at once - this was the healer's cabin, she was in the Auror headquarters, and... Lew. The desert, the attack, her fever, the answer to the puzzle.

"Northern Chinese plains," she said out loud, just to make sure. Had they succeeded at their task, or had Hermione been pulled out to save her life? Where was Lew? Had she been injured in the attack, too? What was that flaming sword?

And then she remembered the fevered dreams and her heart skipped a beat. She had never had such vivid dreams before. Could she look Lew in the eyes again? It was easy enough to pretend that Hermione liked Lew's masculinity and was attracted to her personality. That wasn't the whole truth, though. Loving Lew required her to conveniently overlook nothing. She loved Lew's serene, effortless beauty. She loved her body's slim, compact grace, and her thin feminine fingers, and the subtle movements that composed Lew's walking. She loved the expressions in her voice and her detailed understanding of the politics in every room as well as her ambition, her raw power, and her shamelessness. Hermione's heart yearned for Lew so much that it almost hurt.

Hermione waited for a half hour, and twice more she tried to rise and dared not. Finally Finnigan the healer entered the cabin, his eyebrows shooting up at the sight of her.

"Why Hermione! You're awake!"

Hermione mustered a friendly smile. "Happily so." She bit her tongue to keep down the questions.

Finnigan bustled over to the pot, and then shook his head, clucking. "Are you hungry? Of course you're hungry, dear. I will go fetch you some stew immediately," he said, spinning away and slamming the door behind him, drowning Hermione's protests.

Now that he was gone, Hermione realized she really was hungry, after all. It felt like her stomach was eating away her insides. She sighed and wiggled her toes, wondering why they felt so stiff and swollen. If she looked at them, she wouldn't be surprised if they were black. She pushed away the thought and began categorizing her questions.

Luckily, with the broth in hand Finnigan was far more attentive. He propped her up on pillows and insisted on hand-feeding her, but between sips he answered her questions.

The first, the most important, had the most dreadful answer of them all.

"Lucy? I haven't heard specifics, but I believe she has dropped out of the training. Yes, yes, directly after you returned."

"No, you certainly passed the test. So did she, of course, but I suppose she decided she wasn't interested in what we had to offer."

"Yes, there are the vows. I'm not entirely sure how she broke them, but she took a portkey and then Apparated, nobody knows where. Wanted? Yes, I suppose she is wanted. But to be sure, the Aurors have far bigger problems than a dropout. She is in no danger."

"To my understanding, Lucy doesn't spend much time in the Wizarding world anyway. If she walks into Gringott's, certainly she will not be walking back out again. But in the Americas, they don't care. Neither would they care in the Alps."

"You have been unconscious for nearly two weeks now. But there is far better news for you! Just wait a moment, I should inform the Council, but I believe Regin has something to tell you."

More tests? Hermione considered the thought dully for a moment, and then decided she didn't care in the slightest. Lew was gone. Her world had been turned upside down and emptied.

Regin wasn't visiting to tell her what the next phase of training was. He was visiting to let her know that she, Harry, and Jonah were graduated. Proper Aurors. He apologized for holding the ceremony without her, but promised that the moment she was healed they would be glad to set her on a mission, with an actual partner, of course. He also apologized for allowing Lew in the program at all, and then left.

It was a long week of recovery.

* * *

><p>She was partnered with a balding Austrian man who seemed to be trying to make up for his hair loss by way of a bushy mustache. Jeremy was a ghoulzombie specialist, but his everyday work involved a combination of fast letter-reading, faster transportation spells, and then slow plodding through invariably soggy hinterlands. During the return of the dark arts over the last two years, there had been a large proliferation of zombies, and with the death or abandonment of their masters they were left to wander, terrorizing sheep and other critters of similar disinterest to Hermione.

She'd tried to focus on his instructions, articulated in a dialect that was none the more understandable for its volume. But at night, after he'd set up his tent and disappeared into it, she poked at the fire and mentally screamed. Maybe those countless hours of training hadn't counted for anything, after all. Maybe Lew didn't hear her, couldn't hear her because of her weakness. Or maybe Lew didn't respond for other reasons.

'I'm here,' came Lew's voice through the darkness, so close that Hermione looked over her shoulder.

'Where are you?' Hermione asked desperately.

'Far away,' Lew responded. 'There's something I need to do.'

'How dare you leave me?' Hermione said, temper flaring.

'If I only do one thing in my life, I want it to be this,' Lew said after a pause.

'Then let me help you,' and this she said with all the yearning in her, all the unspoken connection and need.

'I can't let you throw away what you've been working for all this time.'

If this had been a vocal conversation, Hermione would have said something else. But since this was, after all, in her thoughts, she had already told Lew before she'd finished the thought herself. 'I'd rather have you.'

And unexpectedly, just as she felt the panic swelling in her chest, she felt the warmest gratefulness, the sweetest feeling she'd ever felt, coming through from Lew. 'You're the only person I have trusted with myself, and I trust you still. If there's anything you can do to help me, I will tell you, I promise. But please, for me, stay in the program.'

'Don't take any risks,' Hermione said.

She could feel Lew smile. 'You know, frolicking through candy ice cream fields is actually quite dangerous, but I will step lightly for you.'

'You won't tell me what you're doing at all?'

'One day,' Lew promised, and was gone.

But right as Hermione was settling down to sleep, Lew whispered through the night, possibly over thousands of miles, 'Goodnight.' She felt a presence behind her in the bedroll, a body breathing beside her, a hand resting on her hip, and she started and turned over. But there was nothing there. Her heart dipped in despair, and she felt such longing that it almost suffocated her.

The next morning dawn broke as it always did, but her heart was much lighter, and she even smiled at Jeremy as she packed up her things. Just as she had hoped, that night after Jeremy had gone to sleep and she was poking at the embers of the fire, Lew spoke to her again. 'I'm sending you something soon. Will you wear it?'

Hermione felt the grin spread over her face. 'I would love to. What is it?'

'Not telling," Lew said teasingly.

'Well, can I send something to you, then?' Hermione retorted, knowing full well that Lew was Untraceable.

'You can try,' Lew said, and Hermione could feel Lew's breath in her ear, her breasts pressing close against her shoulder blades, and Hermione's chest filled with sweet cotton that quickly evaporated into empty frustration as the phantom touch left her.

Indeed, the next day she received an owl with a small package. It contained a slim ring that fit her perfectly. She couldn't help but run a few diagnostics over it, which picked up some very powerful charms on the ring. But she trusted Lew and did not pry closer, although that night she inquired closely over the purpose of the ring.

'Can't I send my sweetheart something?' Lew said innocently, and the word mollified Hermione's questions.

She often wondered why the Aurors so suddenly ejected she, Harry, and Jonah from the training program, especially since her own task was so mundane. If there had been a spike in Dark Magic, it would be understandable, but to Hermione's knowledge there hadn't been one. When Harry wrote, it seemed that his work with Mercy was similarly uneventful, although Hermione recognized that their standards were somewhat atypical. He was currently in China (it made Hermione shudder just to think of it, although she knew her reaction wasn't exactly rational), and he and Mercy had an uneasy understanding between them - Harry had talked to her about Ginny, and so Mercy backed off. Mercy, it developed, had spent half the Second Wizarding War under Imperius in South America, collecting an army that had never actually come to bear before Voldemort's defeat. She was fanatically devoted to Harry, but Hermione knew the Boy Who Lived's loyalty and she was not concerned about his faithfulness to Ginny.

As for Ron, Hermione gathered from Harry's letters that he was progressing through physical training with minimal difficulty. Unspoken but clear was the fact that he was taking full advantage of the effects of his fame on gullible women. It was made abundantly clear by an article by the Daily Prophet, written by one "Sita Reeter." After she'd busied herself writing a threatening letter to the slimy journalist, she enjoyed a moment of mirth over the subject; not that the article wasn't acceptable, but it seemed that Rita still needed to learn her place.

Hermione amused herself by writing a few articles of her own for the back pages of the Daily Prophet, and soon she earned a weekly column entitled, "Little-known Facts that Might Save Your Life." She was perhaps unduly pleased by the column.

One day, as they were slogging through something that Jeremy referred to as "not a swamp," she heard a deep grunt and then a shout, and she spun to make out figures a hundred yards away in the gloom. They were clearly dueling, and then suddenly there was a muffled 'pop,' and the commotion ceased. She and Jeremy moved to the place, but by the time they got there the nature of the altercation was almost entirely consumed by the "not a swamp.'

Hermione called to Lew, but received no answer, and for the first night in four weeks, Lew did not talk to her. But the next night she did, to Hermione's overwhelming relief, and she didn't miss a night after that, letting Hermione know she was alive, sometimes funny, interesting things she'd done or seen. Nothing that gave Hermione any clues, but oddly it was enough to hear Lew's voice. Over the ensuing month, Hermione became an expert not only on ghouls and zombies, but also bear/bird interactions, the everyday behaviors of eminent politicians, and minute details about the U.S. postal service. And nearly every night, as she went to sleep, she felt Lew beside her. It drove her quite nearly mad.

* * *

><p>Bill could tell something was off before he crested the ridge along the path to Shell Cottage. The intruder alerts had long ago been neglected, but something of their magic still remained surrounding the cottage, and they made the hairs on the back of his neck stand stiff.<p>

He loosened his wand in his wrist holster and approached cautiously, until he glimpsed his wife through the kitchen window and relaxed. She was smiling pleasantly, moving with sexy grace. He opened the door, saying, "Hey, Honey." But when he rounded the corner to the kitchen he stopped short.

Sitting at the table was a ghost from the past. "Lew," he said in surprise. He shook it off quickly, smiling and crossing the room, arm outstretched. "Wow, it's great to see you."

"You too, Bill," she said, but her gaze was reserved. Her grip was firm as always, and she made no move to stand, so he took a seat next to her. "Fleur's been catching me up. Private consulting, huh?"

He nodded. "I'm pretty satisfied with the hours and pay, and the work's interesting. Keeps me close to home, too," he said, winking at Fleur.

"Cool," Lew said. "You're so domestic, Bill."

He grinned back at her, noting with curiosity that she'd completely stopped bleaching her hair. "What have you been up to? Last I saw you was... what, three years ago?"

Fleur interjected. "She was training as an Auror, but you interrupted us before she explained," she pouted.

Lew turned to Bill. "You may not remember Jacob," she started.

"How could I forget? I remember meeting him in... California, actually. He became a Death Eater, right?"

She nodded uneasily. "He ended up being in charge of the prisoners of war in Azkaban, and when you broke in I assumed he had died. But," and there she paused. "Can I ask for your absolute confidence in this? Even if you choose not to help me." She shared a gaze with Fleur, but her attention was on Bill.

He, too, looked to Fleur before pinning Lew in his gaze. The Lew he knew was elbow-deep in more projects than he could keep track of, but she'd expressed hesitation about her friend Jacob's methods in the past, and while she got into some trouble, he had never been disappointed by the slightly younger witch. She was a bundle of fun during their time at Gringott's. Things had clearly changed, but if she was coming to him for help, he did not intend to refuse her.

"We won't tell anyone what you tell us," he vouched.

She nodded. "Thank you both," she said, and then continued, "Do you recall his fascination with Imperius and its derivatives?"

"Vaguely," Bill acknowledged.

"I've discovered that he has been controlling the mind of an influential Auror," Lew said, and paused for a moment. "He threatened Hermione Granger's life, using that Auror as a mouthpiece, and I... got a little carried away and killed him."

A shocked silence descended on the cabin. Finally Bill blew out a breath and asked, "You hid the body, of course?"

"Yes, but it won't stop him. The best solution is to trap all his victims in sleep, but I am not... confident..." And there she suddenly looked very vulnerable. "He can't kill Hermione, Bill."

Bill thought her priorities were a little odd. "You're wrong about the best solution. That would be to go after him directly."

"I'm not capable of doing that on my own. I think he has at least ten wizards under his power, and I'm sure he has at least a little political influence. Enough to expose my crime without implicating himself." She blew out a breath in exasperation. "I mean, everyone thinks he's dead, so how could he be implicated?"

"You've sure got yourself in a spot, Lew," Bill said, and couldn't help but smile a little. "I've missed you, my friend."

"I mean, if I could find him obviously I would go and kill him. But how to find him? And every moment, Hermione is in danger. Anybody could be a puppet."

Bill held up a hand. "Hermione is a perfectly competent witch. I would be more afraid for the fate of whoever he sends after her. People under Imperius aren't known for their combat prowess."

"This isn't Imperius, Bill. He took over the Auror's body completely. I spoke to /him/."

"Oh," Bill said, flummoxed. "Well, that's the first step, then. We have to find out how he's doing this."

"Right," Lew said. "So I used the Hogwarts library." She pulled out a scroll, and Bill could feel magic wafting right off the parchment. "I've got over thirty possibilities, but four that seem most likely."

They pored over the parchment until midnight, and Lew stayed the night in the same room Griphook had stayed last year.

Fleur wrapped herself around him when they finally made it into the bed, but after a long kiss she backed off and considered him silently. "What do you think?"

He shook his head and then shrugged. "I trust her, she's asked for help, and I - I owe her, Fleur."

"Will you put yourself in danger for her?" Fleur asked, tracing the scars on his face with a finger.

"Yes," he said, and she made a frustrated sound. "Fleur, she needs my help. She can't do this alone."

"She could find someone other than my Bill," Fleur complained, but he could sense her relenting. "Very well, but only if you're very good to me."

"Of course," Bill promised.

"I was just thinking about the first night I met her," Fleur went on, and Bill raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"And?"

"We could perhaps... see if she were amenable... I can take some wine out tomorrow night."

Bill laughed, but quickly stilled himself at the look she was giving him. "You like her," he said in surprise, utterly unoffended.

"So do you," she protested.

"As a friend," he said, and then sighed. "Sure, why not?"

Fleur gave him a wicked look and turned over in the bed, away from him. Once again he wondered whether Veela charm worked on lesbians, before turning to his side and trying to clear his mind.

* * *

><p>The next morning, it seemed that Lew had disappeared. Bill worked in his study while Fleur Floo'ed to her mother's. She had considered getting a job, but she wasn't extremely motivated in that direction, although she constantly complained about his income. Her mother was perhaps excessively sympathetic, but he supposed he'd signed up for this by marrying a witch with not only Veela heritage, but a wealthy French family. This particular aspect of his marriage was surprisingly frustrating to him.<p>

What could Lew be doing? Perhaps she had stumbled upon a lead while she was sleeping, and had decided not to wake them. Lew was not extremely secretive, however, so he imagined that he would soon find out where she had gone - if she came back at all.

He remembered the last time he'd seen her. She'd been bundled in blankets on the bottom bunk of the twins' old beds at the Burrow, and she was very solemn, withdrawn. He blamed himself for what had happened to her, and he'd told her, again and again. Even he hadn't believed that she could still be alive, but he'd been the one who put together the ragged group that broke her out, after eight months in the liberated prison of Azkaban.

But she'd simply said that he was not to blame. In fact, those were the only words she said at all - "You are not to blame, Bill." His mother had bustled him out, and when he had returned Lew was gone. He understood that Dumbledore had taken her under his wing, but he found that she didn't want to see him, either. He'd sent her several letters, only to have them all returned, even the one he told his owl to leave at her feet. He concluded that she had made herself Untraceable, but it had eaten at him.

Clearly she blamed him, despite her words to the contrary. As she should; he was the one who, after much effort, persuaded her to join the Order. He remembered his exact words: "Come on, Lucy, it'll be a blast!" Using her given name always irritated her. She certainly didn't need to help them.

She had come to him this time because she knew he owed her. She was quite a piece of work.

At noon he stepped outside to have a cigarette. He was halfway through it when she showed up, coming upon him like a ghost. He wordlessly offered her a cigarette, which she accepted, and they sat in silence, watching the waves break.

Finally she said, "I decided to do a bit of an experiment with the body. There are traces of magic on it still. I'm fairly certain he's using an artifact, which narrows it all down. In any case, I've got a read on what it feels like. Wish I could show you but I don't know how."

Bill said, "Do you think you can find other victims?"

"I know I will be able to tell when I'm standing next to someone who has been possessed. Oh, and he can do Muggles, too." She rolled up an unwashed sleeve to show him a line of blood along her arm. "They were using guns."

Bill raised his eyebrows, but said nothing for a time. "Sounds like a problem," he remarked finally.

"It would be. But an artifact... that's just sloppy."

"You're thinking of Jacobson's Staff."

"Of course," she said.

"Normally that would require possession of the artifact in question."

"Normally," she acknowledged.

He rolled his eyes. "Great," he said, and left it at that, tossing his cigarette butt in the already half-full dish.

"Hermione's still at the Auror headquarters," Lew said. "I don't think he can get in there, but once she leaves..." She took a long puff, burning through almost an inch and holding it in for a few beats. "This ought to be weed," she remarked.

Bill shrugged in apology. "Why is he after her?"

Lew shook her head. "I told him I was going to kill him, and so he threatened the only thing he knows I care about."

Bill felt a laugh creep up as he quirked his eyebrow at her. "You can turn anyone, can't you? My brother won't be pleased."

She raised her middle finger. "It was not my idea, so you know. And nothing's really happening, Jacob is just trying to gain some leverage. He knows I'm watching out for her, so I can't focus completely on him, which is clearly to his advantage."

"Where do you think he's hiding?"

"If I had to guess? Somewhere in America."

He shook his head. "This would be grossly easier if you hadn't murdered an Auror, Lew. You need to find his victims and confine them. But you haven't the means."

"Who even knows how long it takes him to take their bodies? Or how many he can control at one time? Likely he needs physical contact, which lends credence to the theory that he's in Great Britain, since he so easily sent those Muggles to look after the body." She threw her cigarette into the dish. "I need a more reliable way of finding these people, and then I need to isolate them and kill them."

The tone of her voice startled him. He suddenly wondered exactly how involved this Jacob was in her torture. He saw now that she was absolutely hellbent on revenge. "Don't kill them, Lew," he said seriously. "Please. You'll only make your life more difficult in the future."

"Bill, my life's already gone. I killed an Auror and skipped out on all my vows. I'm wanted by the Ministry. Haven't you read the papers?" She held up a hand. "You're going to say that I should turn myself in, but that is the same as baring my neck to Jacob. He will simply kill me before I have a chance."

"Tell you what," Bill said. "I'm going to get a full dozen of those handcuffs Muggles use, and then we'll charm them all to hell. You find his victims, confine them and write a note explaining what you're doing, and dump them at the Ministry's doorstep.

Lew considered this. "Alright, but you've got to help me."

They spent that day and the next charming handcuffs, and when Fleur returned she had a helpful insight. In France, a commonly practiced spying technique involved a crystal ball. Her mother happened to have a very good model, which she offered to Lew, along with a glass of wine. Lew barely sipped it, to Fleur's dismay, but that night Bill tried to do the work of two, which seemed to satisfy his wife.


	7. Chapter 7

It was not extremely difficult to set up alert wards around a particular area. But it developed that Hermione would be travelling quite a bit, which made their task much more difficult. The charms necessary would require intense preparation and a lot of time, and so couldn't be performed on Hermione without asking. It developed that Lew did not intend to speak to, or even see, Hermione. Bill cursed her for a bullheaded sick loverboy and Lew sneered at him, standing her ground on the subject.

So it was Fleur's idea that stuck. "Send her a ring. Enchant the ring," she said, as if it was the most obvious solution in the world. Which, Bill had to admit, it sort of was.

Three days later, the ring was on its way, and Lew could stop fretting and sleeping outside Hermione's window in avian form. The ring worked like a charm.

As Lew fingered her identical copy, Fleur sighed. "It's so romantic," she said, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully she would stop giving Lew wine now.

Then they could focus completely on the problem of Jacob.

* * *

><p>It was two weeks before they had a breakthrough. Bill had had to withdraw slightly to meet some commitments, but Fleur was still completely engaged, which meant that when Lew's ring burned red and hot to the touch, it was she who accompanied Lew. They used the crystal ball to scry out Hermione's location, and then ran outside of the cottage and along the path to where Apparation was possible, disappearing with a double 'pop.'<p>

It was midday, but it seemed like night because of the heavy canopy of trees. As Fleur moved to take a step, she found that her boots had sunk ankle-deep in slime; she couldn't hold back a disgusted sound, prompting Lew to glance backward at her. But Lew's attention quickly shifted, peering intently through the fog. Fleur looked too, but didn't see anything until Lew raised a finger, pointing into the distance. She finally made out two moving shapes, silent and walking with their sides to Lew and Fleur.

Fleur squinted. That certainly looked like the bushy mane of Hermione; she bit back a flare of distaste. The girl should really look after her appearance more. The man was short, almost the same height as Hermione, but made up for it in girth.

Lew shifted, raising her wand in apparent alarm. At first Fleur could not make out what the shapes were, bounding so low to the ground, but then she saw it. A huge pack of wolves, and a great bear of a man running with them, covered in animal pelts. They stalked Hermione and the fat man soundlessly, but just as quickly Lew raised her wand and said, "Impedimenta."

Apparently Lew had perfect aim, even from this distance, and Fleur shot her an appreciative look as the man fell like a sack of bones. But he was quickly on his feet, searching in the gloom. The wolves moved like an appendage of the man, starting to loop around, surrounding their master. A wolf-man, apparently. Perhaps Hermione had accidentally violated his territory, but just as likely, the man was an agent of this Jacob.

Lew seemed unburdened by the details, focusing intently. The wolves had found she and Fleur more quickly than their master and began loping toward them, and Fleur could not help but take a step back, wincing as her shoes sunk deep in the muck.

Lew muttered, "Fauna Dominae," and a few of the wolves stumbled before turning, snarling, on their own brethren. The wolf-man shouted, and the the same wolves fell to their haunches, yelping. Lew snarled under her breath and Fleur, not trusting her own powers of animal domination, resorted to the animal killing-curse, "Avayda."

And then Lew charged straight at the bear-man, muttering curses as she went, still retaining adequate control over the handful of wolves she had succeeded at dominating and ignoring the rest. The wolf-man threw a few curses at Lew, which she handily blocked, and then she was within striking distance. Dodging a sloppy slashing spell, she dove for the man, and they both Disapparated with a loud pop.

Fleur was surprised by the speed at which Lew had kidnapped the attacker, and it took a wolf pouncing on her to compel her into Apparating after Lew. She knew the place, they had chosen it beforehand - an abandoned mining facility, underground and virtually unknown.

Lew had already snapped the handcuffs on the man, and when Fleur appeared she turned to her, eyes flashing dangerously in the darkness. "Can you watch him? He should be completely immobilized."

"Yes, where are you -" But Lew had already Disapparated.

Fleur sat down on a nearby rock and looked at the wolf-man wearily. He looked unconscious, drooling onto the already-wet floor. She shuddered and cast a heating spell on herself, already feeling the bite in the air. She could hear a steady dripping in the distance, and a few heavier drops closer to her.

She drew her arms in and waited with increasing impatience. Lew was gone perhaps a half hour, and when she arrived Fleur stood up in indignation.

"I had to make sure he wasn't sending more of them," Lew said unapologetically. "Has he moved at all?"

"No," Fleur grumbled.

"Great," Lew grunted, and flipped the man on his back, unbuckling his belt and starting to go through his pouches. Finding nothing, she stripped off his shirt, too, making Fleur balk and turn away.

"Hah," Lew said triumphantly, and Fleur stole a glance to find her standing and examining something on a leather thong. She stepped closer, surprised to find a red gem in Lew's hand.

"This is it, the same as the one I found on Noff. When I went back, it was gone." But instead of a smile, Fleur saw the darkest look on Lew's face.

"This is good news, no?"

"The best news," Lew confirmed, and turned to spit on the wolf-man's body. "I suppose we should bring him to the Ministry now, before I do something stupid."

Fleur couldn't imagine what Lew had in mind, and honestly did not care to.

They attached a note and dropped the body off at the Ministry's doorstep. Two sharp cracks and they were back at Shell Cottage, Lew darkly brooding and Fleur happy to be done with the ordeal.

Lew went to work on it at once, disappearing into her room, and Fleur did not disturb her.

* * *

><p>Bill awoke in the middle of the night for a reason he couldn't identify. He picked up his wand, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and hearing Fleur shift in the bed next to him. The house was completely silent, so he began walking to the door, as their bedroom did not have a window that viewed the path to the cottage.<p>

And then suddenly the world exploded in a flurry of glass and fire. Only his years in Egypt saved him as he threw up a Shielding Charm, cowering away from the inferno that his house had become. His only thought was of Fleur, and he dashed back the way he had come, his feet scorching on the floor, and finally he was in the bedroom, and she was leaping towards him, wand in hand.

Together they blasted a hole in the closest wall and escaped into the open air, and luckily Bill had put up another Shielding Charm because a few curses immediately rebounded off it. The shield almost died, but Bill maintained it, putting his arm around Fleur as they dashed toward a small grove of trees.

But a moment later, Bill's shield died, and then Fleur collapsed into him, and it was all he could do to turn and face his attackers.

Freed from the obscuring shield, he was able to pick them out in the light of the fire: four men, one crouched low to the ground. He deflected a weak curse, and then the leftmost man screamed shrilly, flailing. He focused on the others, aiming a stunning hex at the one on the right, who immediately collapsed bonelessly.

The remaining attackers broke and ran, but even as Bill watched it looked like a spirit made out of flame detached itself from the house and engulfed the second man to the left, throwing him to the ground. Bill looked closer - it was a person, but totally on fire, and it wielded a sword made of flame. The sword came down hard on the wizard on the ground, and he stilled.

Bill raised his wand defensively, but then the person took out their wand and doused the flames that had consumed them. "Come on," Lew's voice called. "Let's put out this fire."

He sagged in relief, but turned immediately to Fleur, checking her body for damage and then muttering, "Ennervate." When her eyes fluttered open, he kissed her on the forehead and said, "Wait here, we've got to put out the house."

For all its heat, it developed that the fire had in fact done very little damage to their tiny cottage, to Bill's surprise. Lew explained, "He was splitting his attention between all of them, so obviously the power of their spells was reduced. He may have brought a few allies, but they must not be very talented. He's more powerful if he can focus on just one; maybe he was counting on us fleeing in terror instead of putting up a fight."

Bill was surprised at the businesslike tone Lew took on. "You brought them here," he said, discovering that he was irritated. He rubbed the top of a kitchen chair, bringing up a fine layer of soot.

Lew frowned at him. "I didn't mean to, if that's your question."

"Okay, you're going to need to tell me what's going on," Bill said, and he sat down heavily on the chair, motioning for Lew to sit down too. He realized that he was still dressed in long underwear, noting that Lew was fully clothed. Not a hair on her head was even singed.

"Yesterday Fleur and I intercepted an attack on Hermione, and before depositing the attacker at the Ministry I searched his body. I found this," and Lew pulled out a leather string with a tiny blue gem on it. "I think it's a focusing gem; it allows his own artifact to work more effectively on the wearer. The attackers tonight likely have their own gems. When I brought it to your house, I - I was not certain that the gem was even necessarily involved, let alone that it would allow him to track us here."

Bill raised an eyebrow at her. "Yet clearly it did."

"Yes," and Lew dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Bill."

"Fleur and I are now targets," Bill clarified.

"Apparently," Lew agreed. "But now he's discovered that he can't spook us out, and we know that he is weak when he splits his attention between many hosts. I doubt he will try this again. He lost four men tonight, and he only brought five, by my count."

Bill saw Fleur appear from their bedroom, leaning against the doorframe and listening. He sighed grimly. "But what if he comes in the middle of the day, and only Fleur is here? What then?"

Lew shrugged helplessly. "You could try to loosen the barriers around Disapparation in and around the cottage?"

Bill scoffed and stood. Lew looked pleading. "Okay, so there's some good news, though."

"What's that?" Bill said wearily.

"I have one of the gems now, and it shouldn't be difficult to find the rest."

"Don't you think that he knows that? He will make his hosts throw them away."

"It depends upon how important they are for maintaining control. If he risks losing control he'll be less likely to do it."

"Don't you think that's terribly sloppy? You said Jacob was an intelligent man, and yet he taunts you and then each one of his puppets fall to you without apparent effort on your part. And now you discover that they all have a focusing gem? If he could so easily be discovered, don't you think he would have been more cautious? How can you be sure this isn't a trap?"

Lew looked up at him, and he pushed away the guilt that her expression induced. "There's nothing I can do if I'm wrong, Bill," she said softly. "If it's a trap there's not much I can do to prepare myself against it."

"True," Bill admitted, walking to the bedroom. He saw Lew's eyes flicker to Fleur; she hadn't noticed her. "I've got work tomorrow, and you better not take Fleur away with you again. In fact, Fleur, do you want to come with me tomorrow?"

Fleur gave him a hooded look. "After I finish moving all my valuables to my mother's," she said, and they closed the door on Lew.

* * *

><p>Finally, one night, while Jeremy was out on the town and Hermione was staying in at the hotel, working on the manuscript for a new book, Lew whispered through their connection, 'Every night you ask me to come to you.'<p>

'I do?' Hermione said, a little startled and maybe a bit embarrassed.

'I figured you didn't know, but every time I say goodbye you say, "Come here."'

'I... sorry.'

'It's sweet. Why don't you open the window?'

Hermione did, and a crow flapped gently to land on the windowsill. 'Can I come in?'

Hermione's breath caught. "Absolutely," she said, and Lew jumped in, halfway through the fall morphing into her human body, coming fully into it in a crouch.

She looked up at Hermione through greasy locks of black hair, and Hermione took in her filthy, ragged clothing, her shaking hands. She knelt down and put her fingers on Lew's face, cupping it, reaching for Lew's hands with her other.

Their lips met briefly, softly, and then they paused, breathing each other's air, too close to look each other in the eye. And then Hermione gripped Lew's hand and kissed her hard, pushing her back against the wall under the windowsill, trying to pin her against the wall. It made no sense, but she was afraid that if she wasn't careful, Lew would disappear. The solution was twofold: hold Lew captive, and seize the moment.

Lew responded in equal passion, letting Hermione press up against her, acquiescing to Hermione's dominance. And then Lew lunged forward and stood, bringing Hermione with her, picking her up seemingly almost by accident and setting her gently on the bed, a few feet away. Their kiss broke, and Hermione became suddenly aware of how good it felt for their bodies to be so close, even as Lew released her.

Hermione's heart was racing and her body felt alive like it had never felt before, but the look in Lew's eyes as she took a step back was suddenly frightening. She still looked like the crow in those eyes, though they were blue instead of black now.

"Are - are you tired, Lew? Do you want some food? I've just rung for some, and there's a shower..." She looked at her hands, still clutching Lew's ragged black jacket and the light blue hemp shirt underneath it, keeping Lew close.

Lew shook her head, and her eyes softened as she looked down at Hermione. "Do I smell?"

"Maybe a bit like feathers," Hermione said, and it was true, Lew smelled more like a bird than a human, or maybe a snake, a warm, reptilian smell. Lew always smelled like this, Hermione realized.

Lew sat down on the bed next to Hermione, their shoulders almost touching, and then she was still, looking down at her fingers, loosely held in her lap. "Is that a turn-off?" Lew asked, and Hermione's stomach dropped out at the implication.

She turned slightly to Lew, studying her profile, her porcelain skin and perfect lips. She didn't want to be talking about food, or showering, or even what turned her on. She wanted to be touching, as much as possible, as soon as possible. She turned Lew's face with her hand, looking into her eyes. They were still soft and a little vulnerable, and so Hermione slipped her hand down onto Lew's neck and leaned over to kiss her again, inhaling her, delighting in her closeness.

Finally the kiss broke and Hermione whispered, "I just want to hold you forever." But that wasn't quite right, that wasn't really the feeling, completely. "I think I've fallen in love with you." That was right.

Lew looked shocked, and then some unreadable emotion flickered over her face and she turned her head.

So Hermione followed, putting her other hand on Lew's shirt and kissing her jaw, down to her neck and then tracing her collar down to the buttons. And then she unbuttoned the shirt and kissed that skin, too, slipping her hand around her back as she moved to straddle Lew, using her hand as leverage to pull Lew's body closer, her lips to hers.

She could feel Lew's jaw clenching in her hands, but Lew kissed her back, delicately, tentatively. She wasn't acting like she didn't want Hermione; it was something else. Maybe she was a prude. Hermione kept unbuttoning the shirt.

Lew broke the kiss, and seemed about to say something, but Hermione said, "Stop it." She slipped her hand inside the shirt along Lew's stomach, her other hand coming over Lew's shoulder and pushing the shirt slightly off her. Lew's skin was as soft as a baby's, but with a certain firmness, and Hermione's hand kept sliding down her body, feeling the curve Lew tried so hard to hide, between her hips and her ribs. It was so excellent Hermione couldn't restrain a smile.

Lew looked intensely back at her, and then she finally put her hands on her hips, sliding them under Hermione's sweater, pulling her lower body against hers. Hermione gasped as a liquid desire shot through her and center ached sharply, just as it did that night in the cabin so many months ago.

Somehow their lips found each other's, and Lew wasn't tentative anymore. The kiss was searing, almost frantic, and Hermione could feel her body rocking gently as Lew's hands pulled Hermione's hips closer, and then quickly stroked up and down Hermione's sides, resting again on her ass. Hermione let Lew's precious skin go, her hands flying to her own sweater, which she ripped off along with the shirt underneath, and then the bra.

Lew moved just as Hermione finished with the bra, lifting her slightly up and then down onto the mattress, resting between her legs as Hermione arched eagerly into her touch. Lew's hand came over her breast easily, and Hermione growled softly in the back of her throat, pushing Lew's shirt away and touching her shoulders as her lips came over her breast.

She gasped and could think of nothing but Lew's fingers and tongue for a minute or so, and then she pushed Lew toward the wall and off her, turning in the bed to nibble at Lew's neck and rub her skin, finally succeeding at taking off most of the shirt. Lew's skin ripped under her touch, and suddenly it came to her that she was touching Lew, finally, and it was better than she could ever have imagined. She scooted up to kiss Lew, pressing her body softly against the other woman's as she slid her hand up from her stomach. She'd almost reached her bra when Lew pushed the hand away, redirecting it around her back and breaking the kiss, searching Hermione's eyes.

"I love you too," Lew said, and Hermione could only be surprised as a small knot of tension in her chest eased. "I only want to touch you," she continued, and Hermione frowned. What was the point of sleeping with Lew if she couldn't touch that body that she'd fantasized about so many times? Why didn't Lew want her to touch her?

Her protest was muffled by Lew's lips on hers, though, and then her mind was wiped clean by her fingers. Lew slid back on top of her, and their skin moved so perfectly against the other's, it made a sweet sound. Hermione could have died from the elation, but didn't because in a flash of crystal clarity she realized that she needed Lew inside her, right now. But all Lew was doing was cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples, and Hermione arched into the touch, gasping, cursing Lew, finally unbuttoning her own pants. "Please, please then, touch me, motherfucker please, I'm going to die," she said, and Lew looked at her, eyes dancing.

And then Lew pulled away, started taking off Hermione's pants, pulling from the ankles. When she finished with the pants, she started with the panties, so gently, and then she kissed her way up Hermione's leg and opened her up, licking her center, starting low and working her way up, and all Hermione could do for a few minutes was moan, feeling the light, soft touches on the outside, floating in pleasure, content for the moment. Lew bore down harder, and Hermione's leg twitched as her hips rocked forward involuntarily.

Lew backed off with her tongue a little and then she slipped a finger inside, moaning into Hermione's soaking center and stopping with her tongue entirely. "Oh my god," she whispered, and then she slipped another finger inside, working them deep and then pulling closer and harder, touching everywhere, her whole body engaged. "Oh fuck," she said again, and then she started with her tongue again, and Hermione could feel that it was all over, that any second now she would break, like a wave at its peak.

And then she felt the magic start, an even warmer glowing perfection in Lew's fingers, and Lew was asking for permission, and Hermione was giving it, "Yes, yes, yes Lew yes," and her back arched and her body squeezed Lew's fingers, in rippling waves, and Lew burst into her. Hermione was vaguely aware of her body still spasming, Lew's hips grinding and then her pulling up, closer to Hermione's face, holding her, squeezing, saying, "I'm sorry, sorry, it's just for a moment, if this isn't what you wanted I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry."

And she was gone, suddenly standing, turning in place and disappearing with a crack.


	8. Chapter 8

The jolly old man's eyes narrowed, his nose wrinkling at Lew. "You never know when the next little bird will come around, Lew," he said, and then scratched the back of his neck, the movement looking unnatural, stilted. And then Lew knew.

* * *

><p>It was midnight and Lew hung desperately on the the cliffside of the tiny rocky island, the wind buffeting her frail body. The waves made it almost impossible to see anything. But she was watching intently. Something very strange was happening on the island of Azkaban. There were lights, and explosions. She told herself to wait two more minutes before she sent a patronus to Dumbledore and the rest of the Order. She would have to transform, and she was not looking forward to it.<p>

Suddenly the island was completely still, and just as suddenly there were five Dementors floating right next to her. She blacked out.

When she came to, she was strapped securely on to a plank in what appeared to be a stone cell. Her raven eyes could discern the traces of fluids on the walls, and the floor was packed so tightly with human excretion that there was no way of knowing what was beneath it.

An hour passed, and then a man came into the room. Lew did not recognize him.

He said very clearly, "Morph back or we're eating you," and then he put his hand around Lew's neck and undid the strap around her.

She saw no advantages to being boiled at the time. It was very little time at all before she discovered that being a dead bird would have been far better than a live, tied-up, naked woman under suspicion of being a spy in the liberated prison of Azkaban.

It was a few days before her old childhood friend found her, though. She was almost delirious, but the world snapped into focus when she saw his face. "Jacob," she said, and an irrational hope filled her. "Jacob, please, make them stop, tell them..."

Jacob looked different now. His always-skinny body was now completely covered with tattoos, and he was missing several teeth. He leered at her. "You never know when you'll see the next little bird," he said, and it was ironic, so ironic that Lew laughed suddenly. When they were fourteen, morphing he into a ratty dog and she into a crow, it had meant that they should eat the fresh meat they found. When they were sixteen it meant they should fuck every girl they could get into. And now...

Now it meant that he was officially in charge of her interrogation.

* * *

><p>Lew had gone straight to the healer's cabin after her encounter with Beable Noff. She scooted the chair closer to the bed and took Hermione's hand in hers, looking at her face and wishing, wishing she would wake. Her heart trembled just to look at her, even though the healer said she'd stabilized, that it was only a matter of time. She couldn't say which she wanted more, to climb into that grand bed and plaster her body against Hermione's, or for Hermione's eyes to open right then. Hermione's gaze was so electrifying, and yet somehow gentle. Lew trusted her, and it was an amazing feeling to be able to trust somebody like that.<p>

More than that, Lew knew that Hermione trusted her, too. Sometimes she couldn't believe it, but it must be true. The way Hermione had opened herself up to Lew, returning her kiss with even more enthusiasm that Lew had allowed herself. If Lew had not lashed out at her, for reasons that were not even clear to herself - if she had not, Lew was sure that Hermione would have continued clinging to her, petite body plastered to Lew's more solid frame. It was not only admiration that Lew read in Hermione's eyes, or even lust; Hermione genuinely thought she was worthy of trust. She respected her, not as Dumbledore did, or even Bill; she trusted her with her deepest self. Lew never believed that anybody so earthshatteringly amazing would do that for her. It made redemption seem almost within reach.

Finally she let herself consider Beable Noff. Either this was a message from Jacob, or Jacob was somehow possessing the old man. It was just so out of the blue... it was clearly a taunt.

She could pursue this, perhaps question Noff, or slip him truth potion. But that would mean threatening one of the most powerful Aurors, and therefore the entire system, and if she was unable to prove anything it would all be wasted. Her chance at Jacob would be wasted, and she might be subdued and sent to prison.

And then her heart suddenly chilled. Was it a threat? Her mind quickly flicked through the possibilities, and she realized that it must have been. A threat on Hermione's life. Was it so obvious how much she cared for Hermione? It was unsurprising that Jacob would go to such lengths. Revenge was in his heart.

Jacob was obsessed with mind-control magic. Somehow he had invaded this Auror's mind, and was manipulating him, and thereby manipulating Lew as well. He had threatened the thing that Lew prized the most.

And now he would pay.

* * *

><p>"You are Beabel Noff, are you not?"<p>

"Yes, yes, of course I am!"

There was a sharp crack, and a hardening in Lew's heart, and then a pitiful half-whimper scream.

"You are Jacob!"

"I'm not!"

"Jacob is controlling you, fuckface, and you better not lie to me."

Finally Hermione could see, although she immediately wished she couldn't. A fat old man was strapped naked to a wooden contraption. Thunder rumbled through the sound of beating rain on tin rooftops, and when lightning flashed it showed the man caked in blood, covered in long serrations and bruised almost beyond recognition. But Hermione knew this man's name already. He was on the high council of Aurors, the man partially responsible for the actions of every single Auror employed by the Ministry of Magic.

"Who? I have no idea what you're talking about!" The man yelled, but it was far more desperate than convincing.

His dick hung pitifully between his legs, and Lew approached him, sneering. "Now get your master on the phone, or I'm cutting it off."

The man's eyes bulged, but he'd stopped talking. His eyes glazed, and then he snapped back. "I don't have a master! You're insane!"

And Lew raised the knife, almost theatrically.

Suddenly the man was sneering. His face transformed, suddenly regal, commanding, perhaps completely unhinged. "As if I care about his tiny weenie."

"What have you done, Jacob? I thought you hit a new low joining the Dark Lord, but this is truly disgusting."

Hermione felt like she was falling, and then the scene solidified again as another band of lightning flashed into the shack.

"Like so many puppets. What you're missing is that everyone is a puppet. Even you. The people playing the game are the ones willing to grasp... power. It's a deadly game, though. When you stop being a puppet, you become a target."

"Are you afraid, Jacob?"

He laughed, snorted, coughed up some blood. "Oh yes. So afraid. Because with Dumbledore gone, the good side has really got a lot of powerhouses."

"Because I'm going to come and kill you. First I will hunt down and kill every one of your little puppets. And with nothing left to be your eyes and ears, one stormy dark night I will come and blow down your door."

"Is that so? You have such command over minds, you will find all my puppets. And you have such awareness of souls, you will be untarnished by looking at me, long enough to deal the finishing blow. Will you use that knife?"

"Power gets you off. I get that. Enjoy drowning."

And she cut the man's neck clean through.

* * *

><p>Hermione saw Lew in a cottage - Shell Cottage, she realized in surprise. Lew was smoking a cigarette on the beach with, of all people, Bill Weasley. Fleur Delacour handed Lew a glass of wine and Lew's body was wracked by her Veela charm, which she steeled herself against, night after night, even when Bill left the room and Fleur draped her body over Lew's, looking at some parchment on the table.<p>

And then she saw the wolf-man, the handcuffs, the gem, and Shell Cottage was on fire. Lew opened her body to the flame and conjured the sword again, except this time it was more intense than Lew had ever known it to be, and as the battle waned and Bill began berating her Hermione could feel the huge drain that the elemental magic had had on Lew. She knew that she was no longer welcome, however, and so with heavy limbs and a heavier heart she gathered her belongings and left Shell Cottage, dragging the bodies of the slain with her and Apparating them away, one by one.

She gathered each focusing gem, and after a few days in crow form her strength had returned enough that she could cast a rudimentary mapping charm. The power of the gems was great enough that they shone clearly through, and that night as Lew spoke to Hermione she stared at the pile of handcuffs Bill had helped her Charm, flickering in the firelight. It was Hermione's loving words that convinced her that truly she should use the handcuffs, although the easier solution would be simply killing them. Hermione had not given up on her. So perhaps there was hope.

But she made mistakes. Sometimes when she attacked Jacob's victims, he immediately Apparated in four or five backup wizards, and it was all she could do to kill as many as she could before escaping. She hadn't told Bill, but the only reason she was able to stand up against the force of Jacob's assault was that he idiotically used fire against her, which allowed her to channel that element - her most powerful ability, and one that she had kept a secret for years while she practiced it.

In the middle of the Atlantic, on a sandy isle, she had almost died when he sprung his trap. Luckily by that time there were only a few left, and they all came in what Lew hoped was Jacob's last hurrah. She killed two and then Apparated away, but as she twisted a curse hit her and she spliced her foot completely off. She thought she would bleed to death in the forest, but it was twilight and Hermione's voice cut through the shock. It was all she could do to sound cool and self-posessed as she answered, and with Hermione still speaking, still listening, she managed to send a messenger Patronus to Bill and Fleur, and they had found her ten minutes later, bringing her home and nursing her back to health.

Neither apologized, and they certainly didn't ask about the details of her vendetta. But when Lew was coherent again, Fleur lingered in the room, asking only, "Is there hope?"

And Lew had nodded. "It's almost done," she had said. Little did she know, the hardest was yet to come.

Lew left the Weasleys and set up her mapping charm, finding that the remaining six gems were all clustered somewhere in America. Likely Louisiana, and Lew cursed Jacob's lack of imagination. 'Of course he would go home,' she thought. She went to Hogwarts again; there were only two possibilities left on her original list, and she wanted to make sure.

After reading over each description twice, it was clear. Indeed Jacob was using an ancient artifact, and Lew vaguely wondered how he had acquired it. But this artifact allowed him to track anyone's soul, anywhere. This was why Muggle slaves cropped up everywhere Lew went; and this was why he was able to spring his traps, even while Lew was roosting, away from any possible alternative source of information on her whereabouts.

Lew concluded that the stones she had found were a personal twist on the artifact, a way of focusing its energy that Jacob had concocted himself. They seemed necessary for prolonged possession of those attuned to magic, although he could occasionally take over the weak-minded for a short time. Jacob did not have a large supply of the stones, and it was difficult to maintain control over a new host, which was why Lew was able to kill his minions faster than he could make them.

But that meant he was virtually invulnerable. As she approached his lair, he would sense her coming from thousands of miles away. Which meant he would be prepared, and whatever defenses he'd constructed would be locked, loaded, and aimed straight at her.

There were two ways Lew knew to lose a soul. Only one was temporary. She hadn't heard of it being done for more than a minute at a time, but there's a first time for everything. The instructions said that it had to be accepted, that it had to be at the "peak of pleasure," and that it was almost impossible without trust.

Lew cursed fluently. She didn't want to fuck a whore, and she certainly didn't want to hurt any more innocent people. But she had to do this; she had to lose her soul somehow.

Lew searched the library again, and found no other option. Souls are hard to get rid of. Most wizards didn't want to.

Hermione could see Lew's plan. A Muggle bomb, the size of a child's torso. An invisibility spell to make sure his remaining puppets couldn't see her. Leave the bomb, clear out, detonate the bomb. Easy and clean.

Except for the whore.

It was awful to watch as Lew bought the Muggle and used her, but possibly more awful to watch Lew stumble out of the whorehouse, cursing. And then Lew tried again, and a third time, being sure to use her left hand. She paid exorbitant sums for a "whore who comes, goddamn it," and tried so damn hard that Hermione was almost offended.

And then Lew was crouched in an alleyway, cursing, tears dripping off her hawkish nose as she sobbed into the empty night. It had to be Hermione. She'd known it all along, but she'd hoped so hard.

If only it hadn't come to this; but although it would be a violation of trust, it wasn't really that bad, was it? If she explained what she was going to do - and then she cursed again. Hermione would never allow her to go into such a dangerous situation alone. She would insist on alerting the Aurors at the very least, and probably want to come herself - and alerting the Aurors would be disastrous. Hermione would be discredited, Lew would be arrested.

Lew's plan was so simple, so clean. Clearly Jacob did not expect her to be able to lose her soul, and Lew only knew about this technique because of morbid curiosity.

She couldn't tell Hermione. It really wasn't all that bad; it would probably be painful and difficult for Hermione, but she would survive, and everything would go back to the way it was. Eventually, as long as she understood the situation, perhaps she could forgive Lew.

And so Lew made the choice between love and revenge.

* * *

><p>Hermione opened her eyes. Lew's soul was burning, intolerable, painful, stifling. It weighed her down, pinning her to the bed, making her pant shallowly.<p>

And then there was a knock at the door. It must be the food.

She'd already paid. Maybe she should go after Lew. If she couldn't find her with a soul, how could she find her without one? She could figure out where exactly Lew had seen those crystals on the map, go there, maybe get caught up in a huge explosion, maybe see her lover killed, and what help could she be anyway? She fought to stand, pulling on her discarded pants.

The knock came again, insistent.

She took her sweater up with leaden hands, and then there were two loud bangs and two holes appeared on the other side of the handle on the door. Hermione reached for her wand, and the door exploded inward.

A man jumped into the room, pointing a Muggle gun at her. His face blanked in surprise, and then he spun outward, his eyes searching the room as another man came in behind him. He closed the door, looking around it, and then went into the bathroom, still eerily silent, while his accomplice said, "Hey, Joe. I thought we were looking for a dark haired chick."

He looked Hermione up and down, and then thoughtfully considered the wand Hermione was clutching, his gun grasped casually, not pointed at her. Suddenly he started grinning, just as Joe came out of the bathroom. "Hah. I bet I know what you were doing with that -"

Joe fired his gun at the same time that Hermione spun out of the room, still holding her sweater. The shot hit her in the shoulder, and then she was in the cold woods, on her knees, falling, crushed by Lew's soul, trying desperately to stay conscious. Her vision was spotty, but everything was better on the ground. The world almost stopped spinning, and the ground took some of the weight off her shoulders.

Her shoulder. She brought her hand up to feel the other side, the back side. Sure enough, the shot had gone clean through, so there was that.

It was really painful, though. She started laying out some healing spells, knowing that you should never cast them on yourself but having no other option. The first was a ward against going into shock. The second sealed the wound, which would have been easier if she wasn't missing a good portion of sinew and flesh. One of the bones was chipped, too.

Those must have been Muggles. This Jacob was tracking Lew's soul, just as Lew had suspected. Hermione wondered again whether she should make the leap to help Lew. But then she remembered that the clump was certainly in North America, somewhere in the south east corner of the U.S. The trip across the Atlantic was difficult in the best of conditions. She could never make it.

Anyway, big help she'd be, not even able to fight off two Muggles, one of which was far more interested in the fact that she hadn't been wearing a shirt than killing her.

But she shouldn't stay here. She wondered why she'd come to the middle of the wilderness again, realizing it must have been instinct, built in that last year of fighting against Voldemort. Maybe this was the safest place she could be, where nobody was at all... She pulled on the sweater, but the weight of Lew's soul dragged her down almost immediately, and the pain from her shoulder made her vision dim. Without the danger, it was so much harder to focus her mind.

She heard a twig snap, and that brought her attention back. She looked around, and then got to her knees, visualizing a place, a place she might be safe... Where no Muggles would be...

The Leaky Cauldron's sign creaked in the wind. She stumbled, falling on her hands, and then she struggled back to her feet and pulled open the ponderous door.

Every patron looked at her as she made her way to the bar. She asked for a room, and then collapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>"Hey," Lew said softly, shaking her.<p>

"Lew," Hermione said, opening her mouth wide and breathing out, trying to get rid of the horrible weight, the horrible feeling...

Her mind snapped into focus. "Lew. How dare you!"

"I'm really, really sorry. But it worked, you know, and it's done now. I killed him." Her voice was flat, dead, and the words sounded rehearsed.

Hermione focused on Lew, and startled back. Her eyes - the pupils were so dialated the iris was almost gone. Completely inhuman. "You used me," she said, recovering.

Lew closed her eyes and put her head on Hermione's hand. "I'm sorry," and with her face covered and her voice muffled it almost sounded real.

With skin contact the soul inside Hermione lurched toward Lew, but she knew there was only one way for Lew to get it out, and Hermione was boiling with hatred. But she couldn't even speak anymore, the weight was so awful, so deadening and horrible.

"You can never be sorry enough," she said, and grabbed Lew by the collar, looking into those crow eyes, pulling her in to kiss her. She grabbed Lew's pants by the waistband and pulled her body in against hers, and the soul lurched for its owner, and Hermione's body responded to Lew's closeness even through the fury. She could never forgive her, but she would always want her; her body would always remember those hands, those lips, the smell and the perfection of her.

When Lew's fingers got to her breasts she was moaning and panting, and when Lew breathed, "I love you," into her ear, Hermione's whole body shook. "I love you," she said again, pushing down the gown Hermione found herself in and nuzzling Hermione's breast as her left hand came sliding up her thigh to grasp her ass.

Lew licked Hermione's nipple, and her left hand came around to rest on Hermione's stomach, which would have seemed odd if Hermione had been able to think. As it was, she was arching into Lew's touch, and the weight of Lew's soul was no longer stifling, but freeing, invigorating; it made her body sing, and also ache all the way down to her core. She ached for Lew, and then Lew said, "I'm so sorry for doing this to you," and the fury came back, like a slap across her cheek.

Hermione pushed Lew's lips off her breast and guided Lew's hand down, down and in. It was just a finger, but so deep it felt like it was penetrating everything Hermione was, and the weight was gone, and Lew collapsed on her, still inside, and for a moment Hermione couldn't love her more, couldn't want her more, wanted to give her her body just to show her she was hers, that she didn't have to be strong anymore, she didn't have any more nightmares to fear.

She put her arms around her, and Lew moved inside her, and then they were fucking again, rocking close and slow and deep and Hermione worked Lew's buttons apart, longing for her skin, while Lew moved and looked into her eyes, human again. Her thumb was softly moving above her clit and her fingers were simply divine, perfect. Hermione reached down again and pulled Lew out of her.

And Lew retreated, pulling back on her shirt, her eyes distant and alone. "Is there anything I can do to earn your forgiveness?" she said, looking out the window.

"You should have told me what you were asking."

"You would have said no."

"Exactly."

That stayed in the air for a few heartbeats, and then Hermione said, "You violated me the same way your friend violated those people. The same way he violated you."

Lew swallowed and covered her face with her hands. "There was no other way."

"Your revenge was more important to you than I was. Well, now you have it. And you don't have me."

"Yeah," Lew said into her hands, and Hermione remembered the nightmares, wondered if she would find somebody to hold her through them. Lew whispered, "I thought maybe... I hoped that you would love me enough to forgive me."

It would be so easy. And she did, she loved Lew more than anything, more than breathing. She couldn't even imagine what it would be to have her every day, every moment, to be able to look into those eyes and have her. She would do almost anything for that, and now that she knew Lew felt the same way...

"I couldn't respect myself if I forgave you."

But the pause must have given her hope, because Lew dropped her hands and looked back up at her. "If there's anything I can do, I'm yours, you know, I'll do anything."

Hermione frowned at her. "Give me a few months."

Lew nodded almost eagerly. "As much time as you need."

But she stayed there, looking like she needed to say something else. Finally she stopped rubbing her hands together and looked up.

"So the, um, if you're, I was thinking, planning, but it's completely your decision and my fault, and obviously you don't, but it's bad, I'm sorry." Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Could you be any less coherent?"

"Here, I brought this," Lew tried to finish, sighing hugely, "and I'm gonna just leave now, and I really love you and I'm sorry. You know I love you, and I'll do anything."

She set a tiny Muggle product, a cardboard box, on the bedside table and then practically ran out the door. The morning-after pill.

'I'm pregnant.'


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N: A mini-chapter between the two parts of the story. Hopefully it explains some things. This is almost exactly as it was written originally; people who already read it, you can just skip this part :)_**

**_lycanthrope232 helped my ass a whole lot and totally whipped me into shape, so I re-wrote like four chapters. The general gist is the same, so you can skip forward if you want, but I've added another chapter in small chunks from an entirely new character's perspective, starting in Chapter 6. I think it's worth re-reading the second scene in Chapter 5 (exciting things! conversations and revelations!) thru to the end again. I really do think it's worth it. Some things start the same but totally change later in the scene, etc._**

**_Also I'm not sure if you're going to get a notification for these chapters since I've already uploaded chapters for these slots, so I'm going to repost this every chapter update until I get past Chapter 10. Sorry if that's irritating or inane._**

Ch 8: Epilogue

'It makes sense, of course. There wouldn't just be some random spell that allows you to drop your soul into somebody by having sex with them. There is some other reason it exists. The reason is to allow two witches to conceive.'

Hermione's mind went through the motions of logic, leaving the rest of her behind in a state of shock. She numbly watched Lew walk to the window, open it, and step onto the small overhang, closing the window behind her. A few moments later, the sound of wings heralded her departure.

And still Hermione lay there, thinking without feeling. 'But her soul was in me for, well, maybe even five hours. It was midnight when she came to me, and it's now... the very early morning, just before dawn. What on earth would that do? What does that mean for our baby?'

Those words, even just in her mind, shook her. 'Our baby.' Hermione had thought about children, but she had expected to wait until she was at least in her mid-twenties. When she fell in love with Lew she had easily forgotten about the possibility completely, unable to imagine wanting anybody else's child.

But now that it seemed almost real, that she could be carrying Lew's baby, her heart clamped down on the idea and she looked at the bottle of pills with distaste. It didn't matter how angry she was at Lew, or how much it might change her life to have a baby in nine months. The idea of doing anything else was impossible.

Unluckily, her clarity of feeling in regards to the baby did not extend to her feelings about its other mother. She could imagine forgiving Lew for dumping her soul into Hermione without asking or even warning her - but independently deciding to conceive life inside someone else without permission? Knowing fully the consequences?

Hermione couldn t decide if Lew was just stupid, or completely insane. Of course, there was a third possibility: That Lew had taken advantage of Hermione s feelings for her. That Lew had lied about loving her. In any of those cases, there was no doubt in Hermione s mind that she had absolutely no interest in speaking to Lew for... well, sort of forever. She could not imagine a single thing Lew could do to redeem herself.

And yet the memory of Lew s face was strong in her memory, and she could still feel the ghost of Lew s fingers inside her. If there was anything that could make her fall out of love, it was absolute betrayal. Yet there could not be a greater betrayal, greater violation - and Hermione still trembled in remembering Lew s touch. She cursed her own weakness.

Someone knocked on her door, and she sat up, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Come in," she said. A pleasant-looking man opened the door, his face entirely ordinary. Hermione started, recognizing him. A member of the Auror High Council. She sat straighter. "Mr. Teague," she said. "How unexpected."

Dane Teague waved his hand, "No need for the formalities. I understand you've been in some distress."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"I apologize for that," he said, and Hermione believed him. "I'm not going to ask your motivations, but we found the body of Beable Noff."

Hermione schooled herself to keep her expression still. "Motivations, sir?"

He smiled at her mildly. "He was a known plant in the Auror Council, and I must simply thank you for the service. It would have been... I hesitate to say messier... but more complicated, certainly."

Hermione couldn't keep the confusion off her face.

"Though I must admit, I had hoped Ms. Cunningham would have stayed longer. It's she that I was truly seeking to speak with." He looked around with interest. "Or is she still here?"

"No," Hermione forced out, mind whirring, forgetting to lie. First Lew's vendetta against a former Death Eater, and the unexpected results of her spell, and now an Auror looking for Lew? There were too many pieces missing for her to figure out what was going on.

Dane smiled. "The Auror Council has dropped all charges against her, of course. In fact, I'm looking to take her under my wing, as it were."

"This seems very sudden," Hermione managed. "I - of course I haven't spoken with her since, well, more than three months ago."

"Very good," Dane said. "Well, if you would simply let her know that I am looking to speak with her, I will be on my way. If you took a look at today's Daily Prophet, you would find a note at the end exonerating her." With that, he took his leave.

Hermione lay for a long time trying to figure out what was going on. What was the connection between Dane Teague, Beable Noff, Lew, and this Jacob? Now that she considered it, it was indeed reasonable that the Aurors knew that Beable Noff was corrupt; if indeed he was an avatar of Jacob, it was reasonable to think that he might have attempted to sabotage the organization. But how could Dane Teague know that Lew was responsible for the murder of Beable Noff? She shivered just thinking of the brutality of his death, let alone that Lew was responsible.

Perhaps Dane Teague knew of Jacob, and knew about Lew's... problem with Jacob, and thus made the logical leap.

Who was she kidding? It was all so improbable. Perhaps he was just fishing, but he claimed that they'd already printed something in the Daily Prophet forgiving Lew. That was not the move of an uncertain man.

She shook her head, and looked around for her clothes. They were clean, the bloodstains and tears all magically removed. Remembering, she put her hand up to her shoulder, feeling the tender skin. It barely hurt.

She thanked magical healing and pulled on her clothes, leaving a Galleon in the room, an exorbitant tip. She had her wand, but all her other possessions must be in the other hotel room. She took the steps slowly, testing her steadiness. Nobody looked at her as she made her way to the bar, buying a paper from the barkeep. Sure enough, at the end, one "Lucy Cunningham" had been "forgiven for all past trespasses upon magical law."

She sat reading the line over and over again until the words blurred and she realized she was crying again.

* * *

><p>Lew turned the tiny vial around in her fingers, letting the silver-blue liquid roll from top to bottom, top to bottom. As an agent of the Order, she had been taught how to extract her own memories, storing them as a liquid. This was part of the reason they learned nothing from her, even after months of torture on the island of Azkaban; while on duty, she had extracted every strategically important memory she possessed. Not that she knew very much, as a recent recruit from Gringott's bank of questionable loyalty.<p>

She remembered standing in Dumbledore's office, watching him take three memories from his great store, offering them to her with his one good hand. He said, "These are yours," and she understood that no matter how much she didn't want them, she had to take them back. They were strategically important. Perhaps when he was gone, the Order would need them, too.

She'd turned away from him. "What if I don't want them back? What if I... don't want to fight anymore?"

His hand had dropped to his side, and he'd looked at her with understanding in his eyes. "I would say, that is a wise decision. You've suffered too much for the Order already, far more than we would have ever asked from you."

"I can't just abandon you," Lew had said to him.

He had taken those vials and put them back in his collection. "Go, child," he'd said to her. "You have no duty to us."

And she'd gone, hating herself for it. She'd taken the carriage out, counting the sickles in her pocket. And then she'd Apparated to London, and from there taken a Portkey to New Orleans, the asshole of the world. There were plenty of crows in her hometown. She fit right in.

That was three years ago now. So much had changed. She brought the vial up to her eyes again, peering at the label: "Do not view unless Jacob still lives." He was dead. Most likely. Nothing should have survived that explosion.

She turned it again in her hands. It was a very short memory. She simply hated not owning her own memory. It clearly wouldn't change her mind about killing him. And she had a clue - she knew that this memory explained why Jacob was so sloppy with the focusing gems, why he would go out of his way to taunt her. But she had made sure to rig a rush of memories with the contact of her souls and Hermione's, and this was one that she wanted to be sure that Hermione never knew.

She sighed and slipped it back into her bag, trusting herself. If she could let her love see the basest brutality Lew was capable of, the cruelest moments of Lew's life, but didn't want her to see this... it was clearly something that should stay hidden.

* * *

><p><em>November 8th, 1999,<em>

_This is the day I decided not to be complacent any longer. I thought that fighting Dark magic was a worthy goal, but I have discovered that it means very little in practical terms at the moment. I am saving no lives as an Auror._

_At the same time, I know as a fact that I can make real change in the living standards of some witches and wizards in the magical community of Britain. I am aware that as part of the Golden Trio I am afforded privileges not given to others of my blood status. This is an injustice I can no longer ignore._

_I was complacent partially because I did not personally feel the effects of this prejudice very often. But it's not just about me anymore._

_In order of feasibility balanced by importance, with least coming first, my goals are:_

_- To encourage fuller integration between pure-blood neighborhoods and others, as well as better wealth distribution in the magical community (seems too broad; rework?)_

_- To loosen saving and lending restrictions on half-bloods and Muggleborn, and therefore distribute the "means of production." Problem is that wealthy families are the only investors, rather than banks, and wealthy families are all pure blood._

_- To modify tax laws that disadvantage said people_

_- To guarantee all those with a wand the right of full representation; the mix-ups in the polls in underprivileged areas is unacceptable, as is requiring identification documents often difficult for Muggleborn to acquire_

_Steps to undertake to achieve this goal:_

_- Network with organizations with similar goals; they've been thinking about this longer, so ask them what I should do to help the most_

_- Likely the answer is capital, so come up with a capital-generating project (cell phones? space travel? a bank that actually invests?)_

_- Get my hands on another Time-Turner_

_- Unofficially retire as an Auror (pregnancy leave is a good excuse) if/when this becomes full-time_

_I am ashamed that it's taken me this long. The time is ripe, because after the War pure-blood rhetoric is predictably looked upon with suspicion._

_What have I been wasting my time with?_

_I've been following in Harry's footsteps for far too long._


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N: lycanthrope232 helped my ass a whole lot and totally whipped me into shape, so I re-wrote like four chapters. The general gist is the same, so you can skip forward if you want, but I've added another chapter in small chunks from an entirely new character's perspective, starting in Chapter 6. I think it's worth re-reading the second scene in Chapter 5 (exciting things! conversations and revelations!) thru to the end again. I really do think it's worth it. Some things start the same but totally change later in the scene, etc._**

**_Also I'm not sure if you're going to get a notification for these chapters since I've already uploaded chapters for these slots, so I'm going to repost this every chapter update until I get past Chapter 10. Sorry if that's irritating or inane._**

**_Annnnd I barely changed this chapter at all... and I apologize for changing H's birthday, I know it's supposed to be in early September but the books never specify her birthdate so I feel I have the right to ignore JKR's date._**

* * *

><p><em>I was so unbelievably angry I could have murdered her and only regretted it afterwards. But even as I rejected one great love, I had found a new one. I loved the baby with every ounce of my soul, just as I loved its mother. Certainly I would not have loved any one else's child half as much. But with the acceptance of what was truly a great burden all my priorities changed. I was dissatisfied by being an Auror. I turned my thoughts to what my child's life would be, as the bastard offspring of two Muggleborn. The prospects did not look very good. So I, at nineteen, set my mind to changing the very social strata that held up the entire magical world.<em>

Part 2: Ch 1

Hermione Granger needed a library. She needed a library *yesterday.*

She Floo'ed the Headmistress's office three times, sticking her head into the green flames, before she caught Minerva. She immediately invited Hermione in, and Hermione complied, ducking back and soon reappearing full-length in the flames.

"Well, what a pleasant surprise," Minerva said, smiling in her grim way.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying not to appear flustered. "Professor, I have to ask you a few favors."

"How many times must I tell you, it's Minerva from now on," the older woman commanded. "And of course, within reason."

"Well," Hermione let out her breath. "Can I possibly ask to use your library?"

"Certainly."

"Another thing is, I haven't enough hours in the day anymore. Do you know if there are any more Time-Turners?"

"For an Auror, I can't see why not. Although I must warn you, there is a reason why professionals do not often use Time-Turners. Taking 30-hour days has more consequences than you might imagine, on one's sanity at the very least."

Hermione shrugged. "Might I get your sponsorship in my application for ownership?"

Minerva sighed heavily. "Hermione, please take a seat." Hermione did, sitting anxiously on the edge of the seat. "Are you sure you want that life? When you were fourteen, you wisely put it behind you."

"For the next few months, at least. I'm sure, Professor." She winced. "Sorry, um, Minerva."

The other woman sighed. "I will sponsor you, for the same reason I offered you the Time-Turner in your third year. I trust your judgment."

Hermione smiled brilliantly. "Thank you so much." And then she dipped her eyes. "And one final thing. I'm interested in joining a Muggleborn rights organization. Do you have any recommendations? I've never heard of any myself."

* * *

><p>'No Muggleborn rights organizations to speak of! None at all!" Hermione fumed as she walked to the library, clutching the small piece of parchment on which Minerva had written the names of a few people engaged in the subject. Normally if there was no public awareness of an issue, it meant that it was in fact not an issue. But Hermione knew better than that - in fact, she knew a good number of pamphlet writers who agreed with her, aside from the list Minerva had given her.<p>

It was an outrage. Perhaps fear of Voldemort, or of the Death Eaters, repressed the movement over the last twenty years or so - but Hermione felt that the Wizarding community was not extremely repressive. Perhaps she would discover otherwise.

She spent the rest of the day and night in the Hogwarts library, and returned to her hotel really wishing she'd acquired the Time-Turner first. There was so much to do.

* * *

><p>Harry took the package from the owl with a confused look. He rummaged in the refrigerator until he found a piece of meat, giving it to the majestic animal, who cocked its head at him, piercing him with an inquisitive eye before taking to air.<p>

He recognized the writing on the parcel immediately, grinning. It had been too long since Hermione had sent him a something other than a ridiculously terse letter. But he was slightly disappointed when he found the object inside - a small square of plastic with a big green button on it and a strange mirror.

Her instructions were, as usual, short. "Press the button and say my name. -Hermione." He frowned and inspected it further. He'd never seen anything of its likes before.

Sitting down, he followed the directions, watching a strange glimmer light up the mirror before Hermione's face appeared. "Harry," she said. She looked frazzled.

"Hey Hermione! Wow. This is just like Sirius's mirror."

She smiled a little at him. "That was partially where I got the idea. I used the casing on a Muggle telephone, they call them 'cell phones.' It's got a simple charm to protect it from Muggle eyes, so it's perfectly safe. It's also very durable, I made sure of that. But here's where it really shines. This isn't, in fact, like Sirus's mirror at all. His mirror was paired. These phones can communicate with *any* other person with the same device. You just have to say their name."

"Sooo lemmie guess, this is a reverse birthday present?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You think you're original, but Ginny already said those exact words, and Ron said something like that, too."

Harry stuck his tongue out at her. "You mean you give reverse birthday presents to /all/ your friends? When did this start?"

"Harry, focus. I'm just in the testing phase right now. I've given sample phones to you, Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Neville. I'm asking you to brainstorm on ways to make it more accessible and a better product."

"Right," Harry said. He'd stopped listening when she said she'd given one to Ginny.

"The most obvious step to increase usage is to connect it with an already-used form of communication, for example, the Floo network. But the forms of magic are grossly incompatible. I was considering offering a service to enchant a mirror in a household with these same charms for a lower price, bringing more people into the network. But people might interpret that as a potential violation of privacy, since I'm not prepared to share exactly how I've set this up."

Harry shrugged and nodded, remembering how Hermione sometimes sounded like a Muggle infomercial. "Sounds like you've got it all worked out."

She rolled her eyes at him again. "Harry, I'm asking for your /help./"

"Is that all you want for your birthday, then? Or should I post something?"

She sighed. "It's not even my birthday yet."

"So do you have plans this delightful Saturday night?" Her eyes shifted, and he knew that his guess was right. "Tell you what? I'm visiting on your birthday. I don't care what you say."

* * *

><p>A great benefit of being friends with Hermione was that she secretly appreciated things like ice cream and candy bars. She was just hesitant enough to make it fun coercing her into sharing an ice cream cone with him, which he insisted upon despite the fact that it was the middle of December, and snowing in London.<p>

The moment he got her out of the house, he immediately set upon grilling her.

"Your letters have been brief enough, how have you been for the three months since I last saw you?"

"Busy," she said. "Not with assignments though, this Zombie thing is a real joke. You just set them on fire when you find them. It's just housekeeping. But I'm almost glad, because that means I have time to do everything else."

"What is everything else? What have you been doing? Oh, did you see that article about Lew in the Prophet like three weeks ago?"

"Yes," she said. "I haven't spoken with her."

Harry could tell when Hermione was avoiding something. He suddenly became very worried for his friend. Clearly she was not mingling with people, and now she claimed not to even have spoken with her closest friend aside from himself. She'd broken up with Ron abruptly, and then fallen off the face of the planet.

"Hermione, you know how you get so intense that you stop being happy? I'm worried you're doing that right now, and me and Ron aren't around to stop you."

"I'm perfectly happy, Harry," she said, her gaze piercing through her furry hood. He felt the need to change the subject.

"So where'd you get the unbelievably brilliant idea of these, what do you call them, phone-things?"

"Just phone, right now," she said, and her eyes flashed at him again, inducing the urge to grovel. "It wasn't my idea, clearly. I just figured out how to adapt it. I needed some extra money."

"Money? You could have just asked me."

"More money than that. Although now that you mention it, I could probably use some seed funds for the company."

Harry nodded. "Absolutely," he said, and then he said, "What's the ring? I never noticed it before."

Hermione blushed hotly and turned her face away. After a moment she was back. "It's a Ring of Strength, haven't you heard of those?" Harry laughed and didn't believe her for an instant. After a short pause, she changed the subject. "What are your thoughts on the Snicket unrest in Belgium?"

"The what in where?" Harry said, willing to let her change the subject, but adding 'ring' to his mental list of oddities that Hermione was displaying.

They ended up going to a Wizards dance club later that night. The bar was in Mozambique, and the air was hot and heavy. The decorations emphasized that impression, but the clientele did not - Harry had only been here once before, but his friend had explained that most of their customers caught a free Portkey from European cities. Certainly he could only understand one word out of seven that was spoken here. He'd been surprised at the variety of activities - they had a dance floor, but they also had a bar, a gambling area, and often a performance stage as well. This was part of the reason he brought her to this bar in particular; Hermione had never been known for her proclivity for dancing.

Harry was in awe, and made no effort to hide it. He ordered a drink, something with mint leaves in it, and offered to buy her one, which she refused. There was something seriously up with her; she never refused a bit of butterbeer. He tried to convince her by describing a Chinese drink, but she only pulled him away from the bar, grumbling.

They gambled away some money and danced together in the corner, and a French man approached her only to be firmly rebuffed. The man wasn't half-bad looking, either; the gears in Harry's brain spun faster. The man had recognized him, though, and soon the game was up and they left, Harry protesting that it was barely 11pm and he could handle a few fondles, after all.

After they left, Hermione stood talking with him for only a few minutes before sending him off, not even offering her own bachelorette pad. He would have been miffed if he hadn't been so damn worried for her.

* * *

><p>Hermione collapsed on the bed. One consequence of 30-hour days was that she constantly felt overexhausted, even through she tried to compensate by sleeping as long as possible at night. It was like she was constantly fighting jet lag.<p>

She'd invested in a tiny studio apartment in London, and it had become her refuge. She breathed in the cool piney air and thought about Harry. He insisted on sticking by her, despite the obvious difficulties that posed. It had clearly taken some effort to get permission to go back to London, especially considering the fact that his mission was top-secret. But there was not an iota of hesitation in his voice, and he had not mentioned visiting Ginny once, something that she was, in fact, afraid to do. She was worried that if she spoke in person with a woman she knew well, some ineffable womanly sense would inform her that Hermione was expecting. She was absolutely terrorstruck at the idea of anyone knowing.

Harry was a lucky bastard, she mused. He never complained of boredom, which made her suspect that when he was finally allowed to share what he had done, she would be extremely jealous. And he had a girlfriend who wasn't insane, and he was rich and famous. Yet he still seemed to think that Hermione Granger was an extremely important person.

It was 1am now, but she couldn't sleep and she certainly couldn't focus on work. Silly things, birthdays; she had been biologically twenty for probably about two months now, due to the Time-Turner's stretching out her life. And yet the world insisted on it being her birthday today, December 3rd. The world as in, Harry Potter, who for some reason wanted to make her happy.

She found herself smiling again. Harry was right, it was nice to relax a little. But her smile quickly faded. With Harry gone, the heavy blanket of reality fell quickly, suffocating her. It had been three weeks in real time since she had last seen Lew, and only incessant work could keep her off her mind. Incessant work and, apparently, Harry himself - proof that The Boy Who Lived could still work miracles, she supposed.

But she still felt brave, and strong despite her obvious weakness. If ever there was a time, it was now. 'Lew,' she whispered in her mind. 'Are you awake?'

'Yes,' she immediately responded. 'I'm really sorry, I miss you unbelievably -' Hermione felt the ghost of a hand touch hers, and she jerked it away instantly.

She fought to steady her heart, and then said in as distant a tone as possible, ''Three weeks ago Dane Teague told me he wanted to speak with you. I believe he was responsible for your exoneration.'

She felt Lew's soaring hope deflate a little. 'Dane Teague? Isn't he part of the High Council?'

'Yes. I don't want to talk to you.'

The hurt was intense. 'Please, Hermione. I understand that you're angry, but please give me another chance.'

'No.'

She shut off the connection, feeling her heart harden against Lew's advances. It was possible that she might be able to let her in again, someday. But first she had to forgive her, and right now she didn't even want to think about her at all. If it was anyone else she would never speak to them again. But it was Lew, and Hermione was convinced, despite the evidence, that Lew was fundamentally a good person, although insane. She'd been through so much in her life; she had essentially admitted to childhood abuse, and what had happened in Azkaban... Cearly she did not understand the significance of what she had done to Hermione, but how could she? She was totally twisted, perhaps irredeemably.

Hermione wondered whether she would still want Lew if it transpired that she was irreparably ruined by her past. She tried to remember the way she'd seen Lew before - truly good, without the skewed moral center. Hermione would have done anything to protect Lew then, before she discovered that Lew didn't give a flying fuck about her. No, that was unfair - Lew did care, she just didn't realize that what she had done was truly disgustingly abhorrent...

Except it wasn't really all bad, because look what she had from it. A baby, an innocent tiny person that Hermione was completely responsible for. Whenever she thought of it, a horrible thrill went through her, mixed excitement and absolute terror. But she was already imagining what it would look like. Somehow it always had black hair and ice-blue eyes, and when she held that baby in her imagination, strong arms encircled her, and breath that smelled like mint and raw carrots was close to her ear.

Her heart broke for the fiftieth time, and it was all she could do not to call out to Lew. To stop herself, she sat up, realizing in shame that her hand had fallen to rest on her belly. She moved it self-consciously, leaning toward her writing desk and surveying the north wall, which was absolutely overwhelmed by scraps of paper, maps, and schedules. She picked up a fat unopened letter. It must be a response to one of her recruitment letters. She read it, eager for the distraction.

Sometime in the early morning, she woke, acid in the back of her throat. She barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: This is a crazy one. I have about 1,000 plans and so I'm just trying to get them all out without being too confusing. Also, I'm starting school next week, so expect me to totally slow or stop updating pretty soon. Maybe this'll be the last update in a while. It's been a good run though. Special thanks to lynettecullen, who kept me going, and lycanthrope232, who's an extraordinary ass-kicker. If you need a beating, call her up, she's really good =P**  
><em>

**_I've got it all planned out though, so I'll finish someday, promise._**

* * *

><p><em>Getting that Time-Turner was perhaps the biggest mistake I made this year. While it increased my productivity, I paid in comfort and sanity. I put up a good front, but it was I who suffered the effects of 54th days, which were made worse by insomnia. I closed my eyes and I could almost feel Lew's arms around me, and there were times that the only way I could prevent myself from reaching out to her was by getting back up and writing more plans, more diagnostics, more proposals. And even with my hands writing, my eyes focused on the page, her face still danced before my eyes. I forced myself to be strong, and when I had no more strength left it was a relief, because then I could sleep._

* * *

><p>Regin did not enjoy being rushed. This, he reflected, made him a spectacularly bad fit as the personal aide of Dane Teague, but what was done was done. He rather prefered his former duties as the butt-monkey of the entire High Council; it was far easier to slip under the radar when you had over a dozen bosses.<p>

He pulled his robes away from his chest in a vain attempt to dry the sweat under his arms. He mopped his brow before pausing in front of Teague's office, composing himself. He pushed the door open, speaking as he did so. "Sir, the records indicate -"

Someone was facing away from Regin, and they didn't turn to look at him as he interrupted. Teague looked up from his desk, a look of irritation briefly crossing his face. "Regin, thank you for your... promptness." He stood, nodding at the person, who stood as well. "I believe you have met Lew Cunningham?"

Regin froze in shock, before taking a quick step backward."Yeh- Yes, of course," he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Somehow the mangled body of Beable Noff would not leave his vision.

"A pleasure," Lew said cooly, giving no indication that she noticed his distress.

"Lew will be helping me in a similar capacity as yourself," Teague said. "Consider her your direct superior, and treat her as you do me."

Regin swallowed again, and then forced himself to take a quick step forward, drying his palm on his robes before offering it to the woman. "Absolutely," Regin said, shaking Lew's hand limply. "Eh - It will be a, I'm most glad to be working with you," he managed.

"Very good," Teague said, and took his seat again. Lew followed. "So, as you were saying? The records?"

Regin couldn't stop himself from glancing at Lew, who was looking at him with mild interest. "They show no monetary transfers between the Ravensdale family and Mr. Thomas, but in 1997 Thomas's body was found in possession of a singular bracelet that can be traced to Susan Ravensdale."

Teague smiled then. "Very good," he said. He then turned to Lew, explaining, "That helps substantiate Thomas's claim of parentage."

"Sir," Regin ventured. "Thomas is dead. How could this possibly be relevant?"

Teague gave him an inscrutable look. "Thomas is a half-blood," he explained finally. "Albert Ravensdale can't claim full blood status if Thomas is his father. What surprises me is that the Ravensdales weren't paying him for his silence."

"Perhaps they didn't know," Lew said.

"Then why would it take so long for Thomas to claim Albert?"

Lew shrugged. "Women have their ways of guaranteeing a man's silence," she said.

"So Thomas was the gigilo of Susan while keeping a Muggle concubine of his own?" Teague considered this. "It's possible." Finally he sighed. "Well, Regin, have a good weekend."

He heard the dismissal in the other man's voice and fled the room, taking a moment in the hallway to calm his beating heart. Lew was a bloody murderer and a traitor! At least that explained who was responsible for forgiving Lew. He wondered absently if she was considered an Auror now.

He left the building, noting that the sun had set, and walked to the Portkey slowly, seeing that he had five minutes to wait until it left for London. There was a rickety wooden bench on the hill, which he sat on, picking idly at a scab. The December air was chill against his body, but luckily he had just started to become uncomfortable before the Portkey took him off.

It wasn't far to Apparate to the phone booth, and down he went, to the inner bowels of the Ministry of Magic. So late on a Friday evening, there were only a few people left in the halls, so he walked unconcernedly, dispensing with a concealment charm. He wasn't very good at them, in any case.

Eventually he approached an office, and knocked briskly on the door. "Come in," filtered through the door, and Regin entered, smiling in greeting.

"Still at the office after sundown on a Friday night?" he said with a friendly tone.

The man sitting on the other side of the desk just smiled back at him. "Sit down, son. Do you have something you want to discuss?"

"Uh, yes, actually," he said, flustered. "Mr. Teague seems to be utterly preoccupied with finding blackmail items against the noble houses. He hasn't even mentioned anything else to me."

"Really?" The man raised his eyebrows. "That is... unexpected."

"Sir," Regan wet his lips nervously. "He has tracked down Lew Cunningham and apparently, she's working for him now. The deranged killer?" He let that sink in. "Perhaps he is conducting his... other affairs with her, or another servant's, help."

The other man hummed. "Naturally. He would trust a servant who is at his mercy, and Lew Cunningham has everything to lose if she displeases him. And she is far more capable than his other slaves. It seems that perhaps I made a mistake in pushing your assignment to him."

"I'm perfectly content to stay for another month, perhaps two."

"Yet your services might be more effective elsewhere," the man said, standing and walking to a perfectly falsified window. The skeletal outlines of trees clawed upward at the horizon, the sky still lit faintly.

"Yes, sir," Regin said, and he felt the queasiness in his stomach come back. "To be perfectly honest, I might be more comfortable working for someone else. You, for example."

Kingsley Shacklebolt turned away from the window to smile at the boy. "Perhaps in a month or two," he said. "I will owl you."

"Yes, sir," Regin said, and made for the door. It was to be a solitary night for him, but he had been looking forward to relaxing all week. He shut the door and felt tension drip off him. Friday night.

* * *

><p>"It is unacceptable," Rackrim said grimly, glancing ponderously around the smoothly polished table, his beady eyes angry in the half-light. "The mudblood insults our honor."<p>

An older goblin scoffed loudly. "She insults our business sense, as there is no honor to besmirch."

"What is there to be done?" asked a smaller goblin, distinctly greenish in the candlelight.

"Close her account and seize the funds," Rackrim said instantly, but already there was muttering.

"Before she so rudely confronted us, she had already withdrawn all of her money and closed her vault."

"Is it true that she was looking for investment?" said another goblin. "Perhaps she stole something. It's not unknown! Harry Potter did it."

"We have tripled security! It is impossible."

There was an uneasy silence around the table as the group considered last year's unpleasantness.

"It is completely impossible for her to establish a competitive banking establishment," Rackrim said finally. "Granger is well-known as a dissident. If she becomes a real threat, we will deal with her then."

There was vague consensus, and then the group moved on to brighter topics.

* * *

><p>Hermione ordered a coffee and took a seat at the bar along the window, facing inward. It was a hole in the wall, but coffee shops were hard to come by in the wizarding world. As she waited, she brooded.<p>

Those damn goblins. They refused to listen to her logical argument in favor of investment. Clearly her threat of opening a competitor was only distantly feasible, and certainly she would need a front man (she considered Malfoy; he was bright enough to see the potential). But in the meantime, the wizarding economy suffered. She, Hermione, suffered with it - she needed about 10,000 galleons, and while she was fairly certain Harry was flush enough to handle that, she didn't want to force Harry into such a narrow investment portfolio.

Fucking goblins.

The man had to say, "Hello, Ms. Granger?" to get her attention, and when he did she blinked and focused on him. He was standing approximately a foot and a half away, and she mentally cursed herself for her inattention.

She hopped off the stool and gave a short bow, which the man returned. He was wearing simple robes, the only extravagance being red lining and purple shoes. His face was lined by worry, but at the moment his eyes were bright.

"James Ravensdale," she acknowledged.

"No, please, call me Jim," he said, taking a slightly awkward seat at the bar stool next to her. "I'm terribly sorry for this preposterous meeting-place, but my wife Susan is highly suspicious of lending money," he paused, and Hermione filled in "especially to mudbloods" for him. "It seemed better not to excite her."

Hermione nodded in what she hoped was understanding. "Of course. Although I feel I must remind you, this isn't a loan."

He waved his hand. "As long as you guarantee me a full return in two year's time, I have no qualms with the arrangement. You know, Ms. Granger, you come with quite a few recommendations. I don't consider a loan to you a risky proposition whatsoever."

Hermione couldn't control a wince at his incorrect term, but fought through it. "Yes, sir. Would you like me to show you how it works?" She brought the new model, a sleeker design with a slightly smaller mirror, out of her pocket.

* * *

><p><em>Harry,<em>

_I'm going to Belgium for the Daily Prophet. They didn't want to cover the Snickets issue in depth, but I insisted and Talls finally capitulated. The permission forms for temporary leave went through like clockwork, suprisingly. Maybe someone on the inside agrees with me._

_I'm including a business plan for the phones. In summary, I'm looking for a small investment of 4,000 Galleons from you and one other party, and I am contributing 2,000 of my own funds. You and the other investor will hold 40% of the total value of the company, while I will have 20%. At any point you can break the contract and absorb 60% of the remaining sum of your investment, which is a condition that the other investor insisted upon. As with any investment, I will distribute the profits according to the share of the company that you hold. As a for-profit company I can assure you that I will be looking to expand our profits at all times, except in the case of a potential breach in law or ethics._

_I will hire one 'manufacturer,' and one salesman, who will double as quality control. I will begin selling the hand-held devices on February 1st, but I will expect to accumulate a few pre-orders. The basic model will retail at 350 Galleons, and I will also offer a pre-enchanted mirror for household use at 180 Galleons, with an additional cost depending upon the frame._

_Merry Christmas Harry. Don't let Mercy get to you too much._

_Love,_  
><em>Hermione<em>

Harry shook his head, staring sadly at the stack of books beside him. He reached into his pocket and pushed the green button, saying, "Hermione Granger."

There was no response. After the mirror dimmed again, he tried again. "Hermione Granger."

Her face appeared, obscured by a big knitted hat and a scarf. She was outside, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes kept flicking up, and she continued walking as she spoke. "Harry. Did you get my letter?"

"Hermione. Two questions. Why don't you have a salary and why did you send me five books for Christmas?"

"I have a salary, Harry, what are you talking about?"

"For your phone company, you list only two employees, but there are three."

Hermione frowned heavily at him. "I'm not planning on exactly working for the company, Harry," she said.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're the CEO! Intellectual property and all!"

She brushed the comment off. "And you need to read the books," she said. Of course.

"Okay, well look. I'll pick the money up next week on Christmas Eve, since I'm coming back anyway, and I'll give it to you then. Does that work?" He figured he needn't mention the Weasley family Christmas, since she was obviously not invited.

"Sure," she said shortly.

"Oh, and I'll tell Mercy the price, but I'm pretty sure she wants one of these phones. So you've got one pre-order already."

A smile flicked across Hermione's face, disappearing too quickly. "Great. Look, I'll talk to you soon, alright?"

"Yeah," he said, but she'd already hung up. He sighed and tried to think of a way to shake her out of her psychosis.

He had a week, but by the morning of the 24th he still hadn't come up with a winning strategy. So he settled. Hermione had been devastated when they discovered that Crookshanks had been mysteriously missplaced during the Weasleys' hurried move to Aunt Muriel's. Ms. Weasley had insisted that Crookshanks disappeared a week previous, but there was a good amount of controversy over the subject, and through all that Harry had watched Hermione's face go from furious to despondent. Whatever the cause, Crookshanks had never come back.

So he Apparated very, very carefully to the foot of Hermione's apartment building and called her to announce his arrival, waiting nervously at the foot of the stairs. When she appeared, she was wearing a heavy grey sweater and a heavier frown, which lightened the moment she set eyes upon his furry delivery.

"Oh, Harry," she said softly. "Is she for me?"

He nodded and stepped forward, offering the tiny grey bundle, which made a soft mewling sound as it woke. "As long as you want her," he said when he'd passed the kitten over, but Hermione wasn't listening. The kitten had started purring.

He couldn't stop the grin from plastering itself onto his face, but then suddenly Hermione looked up and said, "But I can't, Harry, I travel too much... she needs other kittens to play with, she's too young..."

"Ah," Harry said, and offered a green paper flier. "I thought you'd say that, so I found you like, a kitten daycare. It's this Muggle place where like, businesspeople leave their kittens so they don't get lonely. It's not too expensive, either, but anyway I enrolled you for the full period."

"That is the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard," Hermione said, but she was smiling.

"Come on, Hermione, stop talking like a grouchy old lady," he said.

She glared at him as she moved to the door, juggling the kitten with her keys as she opened it. "Give me a couple hours to think on it," she grouchily conceded, and he knew he'd won.

Her studio was the most chaotic, well-organized disaster he'd ever set eyes upon. All her clothes were put away, and there wasn't a single plate that wasn't washed, but the entire north wall and most of the east were completely overrun by scrap papers, often pinned up but sometimes suspended by magic, with little red strings connecting some papers in a bizarre web. Her desk was also completely covered by scrolls and Muggle paper, and he noted that she'd completely dispensed with quills, preferring a Muggle felt-tipped pen. Her writing had also become smaller and messier.

He sat in her desk chair, while she took a seat on her bed and sat the kitten beside her. He instantly produced approximately twenty brightly-colored, fluffy, furry, or feathered objects, many with strings attached. A quick charm untangled them all, and he placed them next to the kitten.

The kitten completely ignored the toys, creeping immediately to the edge of the bed and peeking off it. Hermione watched warily as the tiny thing, barely as long as Harry's hand, jumped straight off the bed. She landed on her feet and skittered to the edge of the desk, investigating thoroughly before moving on to the chair Harry was sitting on.

Harry decided that the kitten was properly occupied and prodded Hermione about going out, and she lied so badly he had to laugh out loud. "You ought to like, join a women's club or something. What do women do together?"

"Harry, I am really not looking for any more drains on my time," she said sternly.

He shrugged, and then decided to probe. "You were getting along with Lew just fine, weren't you? I saw her in Grasia yesterday."

Hermione dropped her eyes and picked one of the toys, dropping it onto the floor in the most lackluster attempt at attracting a kitten that Harry had ever seen. The kitten perked up and bounded over to the toy, swatting clumsily and then falling over. The longer she was silent, the more Harry's premonition grew.

"Did she hurt you?" he finally asked, sensing the answer before she nodded, eyes still downcast.

He got up and moved to her bed, sitting next to her and putting his arm around her. She leaned into it, and he provided silent support in the best way he knew how.

His head was spinning. Did Lew's misdeed prompt the explosion in productivity? Was it related? Was Hermione involved in Lew's disappearance? Or had Lew done something to get back in the good graces of the Council, which had estranged Hermione? Whatever it was, he now realized that the depth of their relationship had completely escaped him. He hadn't been wrong about her misery, however.

"Hermione," he finally said. "You can talk to me, you know. About anything. You can trust me."

Hermione raised red-rimmed eyes. "But I'm scared, Harry," she said.

He jumped at that. "Is she dangerous?"

She smiled faintly at him, and he relaxed. "Not scared of her," she clarified, straightening her spine and thereby retreating from him. He could see her pull herself together, and he wondered whether he should be relieved or not. "I'm trying to get a handle on this situation, is all."

"What situation?" he asked, somewhat exasperated.

"It all comes back to Muggleborn rights," she explained, completely baffling him.

"How is that related at _all_? Wait, you're doing something about Muggleborn rights?"


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I haven't forgotten Lew, and hopefully you guys haven't either. In other news, Noomi Rapace is a very good representation of what I imagine when I think of Lew - but with blue eyes. If you don't know who I'm talking about, you're welcome and google it.

* * *

><p><em>There were some nights that I clutched my blankets so close to my heart and imagined what it would be like to have Lew instead. In those moments it struck me as easy to forgive her, if only to have her at night. It could be our secret; I could forgive her at night and hold her, and leave the day for my fury.<em>

* * *

><p>Hermione stood for a long time across the street from her parents' house in Australia, thinking. On the one hand, there was a reason she didn't restore her parents' memories last year. They were happy, and she was afraid that after choosing the dangerous life that she did, it would almost be irresponsible to open them up to the heartache of having a child who was constantly in danger.<p>

But she needed her parents. She was terribly lonely, in the moments that she stopped working and let herself feel real emotion. Her parents had always been there for her, and she was secure in the knowledge that they would love her regardless of what she had done.

Finally she sighed and headed across the street, resolutely ringing the doorbell and planting her feet firmly on the ground, fearing that if she didn't she might flee. The door opened, and there was Mr. Granger, looking somewhat put upon.

"Hello," Hermione started. "Is Mrs. Wilkins home?"

"Uh- yes," her father said, faltering before calling, "Jean, there's a young lady come to see you."

Hermione waited until her mother appeared before casting the reverse memory charm on them both. It took about a half-hour for them to calm down and sort themselves out enough to sit down in the living room and have a decent conversation. Hermione waited patiently.

Her father started. "So is it really Christmas Day?"

"Yes," Hermione said, deciding that explaining the intricacies of the Memory Charm could wait.

"But our surname is actually Granger," he continued, and Hermione nodded.

"Why did you change our memories?" her mother asked, cutting to the chase. "Why did you erase yourself?"

Hermione smiled grimly, having anticipated this question. "I was in danger, and I worried that my pursuer might... attack you. It was safer that you didn't remember me." She'd decided not to tell them that she had also instilled in them the intense desire to move to Australia.

The newly restored Mrs. Granger looked very alarmed. "You were in danger? Surely Ms. McGonagall would have..." and there she looked lost. "How old are you?" she asked suddenly.

"I just turned twenty," Hermione said softly, watching as her parents counted out the years she'd been entirely excluded from their lives.

"So you've finished school," her mother concluded.

"Yes. I'm working in magical law enforcement."

"And are you happy?"

That was not a question Hermione had anticipated, at least not so immediately. "Um, I suppose," she said quickly.

Her mother gave her a look, but it was her father that spoke. "Hermione Jean Granger. Tell us the truth."

She shrugged uncomfortably, but took her time with her next answer. This was, after all, the reason she came here. "I met somebody," she started, watching their faces. "We fell in love, and I'm pregnant. But we're not together anymore."

Her mother had smiled hopefully at her, and then as she finished her smile had frozen, tears already welling in her eyes, while her father's face had changed from open to absolutely blank.

"So no, I'm not very happy," she finished, voice wavering.

"If it's that Ron Weasley I swear, I will -"

"It's not, Dad."

"Oh, sweetheart," her mother burst out, throwing herself across the table to cling to Hermione. But her tears only made Hermione's heart feel more chill. The temptation to cry was completely gone now, replaced by a cold emptiness.

Her father was looking stern. "So you're determined to keep the child?" he asked, but before Hermione could respond her mother did.

"Of course she is, Wendell," her mother said, rocking her grown child in her arms.

"Who is the bastard who did this to you?" he said again, focusing on Hermione, and she could somehow believe that her father thought he could attack a wizard and cause any sort of damage whatever. Perhaps he was considering using a gun.

"Well," Hermione started, wondering if telling her parents would actually help. It hadn't thus far. "To start with, it's actually a woman." She ploughed on before they could respond. "And it was I who decided to separate, not her."

Her mother stopped rocking abruptly, and slowly drew back from Hermione. "A woman? That's not possible."

"Magic," Mr. Granger said, for once displaying more common sense than his wife. Then he refocused on Hermione. "Surely you can see that you're being unreasonable. If you don't love her, you need to abort the baby, because it will bring you only grief. And if you do, you should stop making yourself miserable and go to her."

Her father's instant acceptance was a relief to Hermione, bringing a little life back to her heart. But his words hit upon the crux of Hermione's problem, which shook her more than she could say.

"It's more complicated than that, isn't it?" Hermione said, recognizing the plaintive note in her own voice but unable to regulate it.

"Of course it is," her mother said, smoothing back one of Hermione's brown curls and looking sympathetic. Her parents had barely missed a beat when she confessed bisexuality, better than she could have ever asked for. Perhaps their years at university had informed their opinions on the subject.

"She really hurt me," Hermione tried to explain. "I can't be with her, not right now."

"But this is the time you need her the most," her mother said, and Hermione knew it was true. It had been seven weeks, but it felt like a short lifetime since she had seen Lew, and somehow the longer it was, the more she was tempted to forget what Lew had done. But Hermione had never let loneliness be a motivation toward self-destructive actions, and she knew that even if she reached out to Lew, asked to speak to her in person, the moment she saw that face her fury would return. There was no forgiving Lew. So why was she even having this conversation?

Her father agreed with her mother. "Hermione, it aggravates me to see you suffer, but most especially if it is over something you can prevent."

But even with this reasonable advice, Hermione was still not persuaded. She let her parents wait, trying to figure out why. "She wants to be with me so badly, but... she doesn't deserve me. I... must be treated with respect. If I wait a few months..."

Her father looked alarmed. "What, precisely, did she do?"

And although she had promised herself she would not tell them, lest she make up with Lew and introduce them one day, she felt the irresistible urge to explain. She sighed and tried to fight it, but finally she submitted. "She didn't tell me that what she was doing would result in a baby, and what she did really hurt me, physically. And... she wants me to abort."

This was a confusing explanation, to say the least. Her parents shared a bewildered look before her father said, "Well, I can see why you would want some space from...a... that."

Hermione signed, wondering whether she should defend Lew. She couldn't even really find the words to defend her. 'She's irreplaceable,' came to mind, but that was somehow simultaneously an understatement and an absolute lie. 'I love her' was beside the point.

"Hermione," her mother spoke up. "Just as you said, what you describe... that evidences total lack of respect." She shook her head. "I would think hard before talking to her again," she said, and Hermione recognized the same insane protectiveness that she herself felt, over this person who was not a person, her child.

"But she was... distracted. She's a very complex person. For her, it didn't seem as bad as it... well, as it really is. And I love her," she tacked on, saying the words for the second time ever. Somehow it was harder to say them this time, to open herself to that exquisite vulnerability. She'd been so confident in herself, in Lew. It was a dive into the future, but something she'd longed for. This time it just made her afraid.

It was a small defense for Lew, but the only defense Hermione could muster, because she thought Jean Granger was right.

Her mother accepted this with a small sigh. "Distracted?" she asked. "Distracted from thinking about your needs?" Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "She is immoral, but you love her."

"Not immoral, exactly. Maybe not fully morally developed," Hermione clarified quickly, having put a good amount of thought into the question. And then the second part of her mother's observation came to her, and she looked up into the other woman's eyes. "I thought I could heal her."

"And instead she hurt you," her father broke in. Hermione closed her eyes, resting her face on her open hands and remembering Lew's fingers, the small moan that had escaped Lew's lips as she slipped into Hermione, the perfection of their union - and then its utter debasement. Lew had done more than leave her. She'd used her. It was spectacularly incomprehensible.

"How far along are you?" her mother asked.

Hermione peeked out of her hands. "Nine weeks," she said, accounting for the Time-Turner.

"How are you feeling?"

Her mother rubbed her back in a circular motion, comfortingly. Hermione let her body relax. "Starting to feel a bit better," and she wasn't just talking about the weakness and morning sickness.

They spent Christmas Day talking, her parents eagerly soaking up her updates. It wasn't the last time they talked about her baby, and every time her parents brought the subject up, she felt a knot of tension rise in her belly, only to dissipate as they spoke with great understanding and compassion. She stayed the night at their house, her head spinning with the oddest relief.

She was torn over whether it was selfish of her to restore her parents' memories, and settled upon the conclusion that whether it was selfish or not, she was sure it was what they wanted.

The Leaky Cauldron was swinging, although it was barely 5 on Friday evening. Perhaps it was the fact that the centennial was Sunday night. Or maybe this was a typical Friday night, Hermione didn't really know.

She gave the venue a quick glance-over, and seeing no faces of mention she went straight to the booth in the back. The man already there stood quickly, holding a hand out. Hermione closed the distance and took his hand, liking him already. He had a good grip, amenable without being wet or limp. He also had a very nice face. He was wearing a light brown trenchcoat, a tie peeking out from under it.

"You must be Nicholas Waters."

He grinned back at her. "Indeed I am. It's truly a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger. You are lovelier than newspaper clippings had led me to believe."

She quirked an eyebrow at that but didn't comment. "You've had your share of the limelight," she observed.

He scoffed, taking back his seat and waiting for her. She slid in to the opposite bench, quenching the urge to lay something down on the dirty seat before she took it. He gave her a friendly grin. "They scramble for headlines. Anyway, that was what, seventeen years ago now?"

"But you haven't stopped writing pamphlets," Hermione observed.

"Until Death Eaters came knocking at my door." His voice was not solemn enough for that statement, and it suddenly occurred to her that he might be trying to flirt.

The thought was so disturbing that Hermione forgot to express sympathy or concern, cutting straight to the chase. "Do you think Lord Voldemort's recent defeat contributed to the sensationalism that accompanied your first set of pamphlets?"

"Oh yes, absolutely," Waters acknowledged. "I was lucky, I'm not afraid to admit it. I was an absolutely artless teenager, having just finished at Hogwarts. Like you, I was a visionary, untempered by the facts."

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes at that. "Yet your most recent publication received just as much media attention as a tree falling in an empty wood."

"And?"

"And wouldn't you expect writing about Muggleborn rights in the wake of the Dark Lord's second defeat to be... well... a little more exciting?"

Waters sighed, his eyes crinkling. "I have ceased to write for the people. I am writing for perpetuity, so that one day the history books will say, 'Nicholas Waters continued publishing to an empty wood until his death in 2050, and contributed to the academic body around the now-successful Muggleborn rights movement.'"

"You've given up," Hermione observed flatly.

"And one day, you will too. A beautiful face and a famous name doesn't change the facts. We don't have enough influence as a group to change policy, and policy ensures that we will never."

* * *

><p>"Sir, the Belgians are not relenting." Jonah spoke crisply, at attention. Kingsley Shacklebolt frowned at him and glanced at Marcos, looming behind his student. "They insist that it is their right to make use of their country's natural resources, and that the Snickets are neither native to the region, nor rare, and certainly that they are not being harmed by the mining at Signal de Botrange." He mangled the French horribly.<p>

Marcos cut in. "How they feel they can get away with such flagrant disregard for facts is astonishing."

"They are violating international treaty," Shacklebolt said. "But Snickets, while rare, are not worth international turmoil. We let the media do their worst, and hope that Snickets are not fragile."

"But, sir," Jonah said, and for the first time his face registered emotion. "An inquiry at the very least? Sanctions?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "We don't have enough support from our public to sustain a sanction. All we could do is block trading, but the public would be in an uproar over Tvarti gems."

Jonah had never heard of Tvarti gems. He shook his head, but didn't give up hope. They left the office shortly, and Marcos dragged him around the Ministry before finally allowing him to return to the hotel.

Help came from unexpected quarters. When he arrived at his room, an owl was waiting. The scroll had distinctive loopy script, and when he opened it his suspicion was confirmed. Biting down annoyance, he sat and carefully read the letter. And then he read it again.

Hermione Granger was requesting a week's leave to pursue an assignment from the Daily Prophet covering the Snicket controversy. She asked him to support her request and, more importantly, give her his assessment of the situation with, "Details details details!" She also noted, somewhat prissily, that as a member of the press corps she gave her word that she would not refer to his report in any way, oblique or otherwise. She also pointed out that if he happened to be in Belgium starting December 27th, as an Auror he was specifically expected not to communicate with her.

He did not like Hermione Granger. For a month after he'd met her he thought she was nothing more than Harry Potter's left hand. But he began gradually realizing that if Granger was a left hand, she was a ridiculously opinionated, pushy, and irritatingly informed hand, which could probably use a glove over it. Where Harry was easygoing, Hermione was driven to the point of obsession, and she did not hesitate to call anyone out on a mistake, even an instructor. He found her irritating.

But the Minister of Magic had just said very clearly that the press was perhaps the only force that could compel change in the situation. He could not fathom how Granger had ended up with that assignment, not being an avid follower of the Prophet and thus not having noticed her weekly column, or its recent expansion to include a response letter portion.

His brow furrowed. Her letter had included no personal plea. It was not written to be persuasive; she was succinct and businesslike. He pulled out a long, blank parchment and started with, "Snickets' first recorded sighting on Signal de Botrange was in 1309, by a Belgian botanist who happened to specialize in annual flowers..."

* * *

><p>Hermione took a Portkey to Sydney on Saturday night to spend New Year's night with her parents. It was a subdued affair for the Grangers, although Hermione did Apparate her reluctant parents to a mountaintop to watch the fireworks.<p>

They all went to bed at 12:30, and for the first night since she got it, Hermione did not turn the Time-Turner back.

Two weeks later, she was in Belgium, haven taken time off her work as an Auror to cover the Snickets controversy. The company involved refused to allow her on-site, but that didn't stop her from taking a broom to Signal de Botrange. It was midday, but the sun shed a pale, sickly light on the mountain, reflecting weakly off the patches of slowly melting snow. The mountain was barren, with only a few bare bushes and the skeletons of trees clawing at the sky.

Hermoine landed the broom on a likely site, leaving it behind as she carefully stepped across the sandy soil.

A figure appeared in the distance. A light black jacket and blue jeans - even the way she moved was so familiar. Hermione's heart lept in her chest as she watched the figure move closer to the cliff, peering over the edge and then looking quickly along it, not noticing her poised on the slope above.

"Lew," Hermione whispered. A flare of anger replaced the giddy excitement in her heart. Lew was just so close to the edge of the cliff, she could just -

Hermione felt a burst of magical energy fill her, coming straight from the adrenalin, and she spun into emptiness, appearing about four meters from Lew on a patch of rock. She cast the spell, "Pulsus Aeris," but Lew was far faster than she had expected. At the crack of Apparation Lew had already thrown herself to the side, coming up from a quick roll with her wand pointed straight at Hermione.

The words were already out of her mouth before Lew had finished moving, and Hermione saw her eyes widen with surprised recognition - a second too late. A ball of flame was already flying toward Hermione.

Hermione didn't even recognize the spell, so a counterspell was out of the question. It was clearly a conjuration, so - "Finite incantatem!" she said quickly, but the fireball exploded before she finished, a wall of flame rushing at her.

She closed her eyes, and she could hear the flames roaring around her. But she felt nothing, and when she opened her eyes a shielding charm shimmered in the air in front of her, before dissipating. Lew was standing there, completely untouched by the flame and looking disconsolate to the extreme.

Hermione wondered briefly whether Lew was able to maintain two very strong shielding charms simultaneously, and then she wondered if she should just turn around and walk away. But Lew was here, and she really just -

She conjured a shovel and levitated it, aiming for Lew's face.

Lew ducked and put her arm over her eyes, so Hermione used the broad side of the shovel to whack Lew solidly on the shoulder, making her stumble. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't quite satisfying. She didn't want to kill Lew, exactly - she really just wanted to pound her until she was bruised and bloody, until she felt some fraction of how Hermione had felt over the past few months.

She dropped the conjuration, letting the shovel melt into the air and stomping toward her. Lew heard her and peeked out from her arm, and Hermione shoved her, hard, toward the cliff.

Lew fell like a cat, twisting quickly and gripping the rock, although her feet didn't seem to have purchase. Hermione let her scramble back up, and Lew stood in front of her, looking into her eyes.

Hermione slapped her so hard that her hand burned, but the eye contact had been enough, and when Lew recovered from the slap Hermione stepped close to her, grabbing her shirt and jacket roughly. Lew flinched, and then Hermione kissed her, hard and furious.

Lew's lips were unbelievable, like chocolate, or water after a lifetime of thirst. Hermione drank her eagerly, her fury turning instantly into something warm and pulsing, just as intense. Lew made a little sound in her throat, like a whine, and she put her hands on Hermione's hips. The rush of desire made Hermione break the kiss, panting.

Lew misunderstood and stepped in, wrapping her arms around Hermione tightly, trapping Hermione's hands between them. Hermione pushed away, and then glanced around, seeing a cliff face not a few feet from them, abutting the cliff edge. She turned toward it, bringing a bewildered Lew along with her, a hand still tangled in Lew's shirt.

She pushed Lew face first into the cliff face, pulling Lew's hands back and forcing Lew to turn her head, pressed hard against the rocky surface. Hermione pushed her body against Lew's, noticing how her breasts came so firmly against Lew's back. She went on her tip-toes to lick Lew's earlobe, and then breathed hard on her neck, seeing Lew's eyes close in response.

And then she pulled off Lew's jacket, pulling Lew away from the wall enough to start working on the buttons of her shirt, arms encircling her lover. Lew glanced at her, and said to Hermione the first words in months - "Please don't hurt me."

Hermione paused, and Lew turned partly in her arms, only to be pushed back more firmly against the wall. Finally Hermione started working on the buttons again. She said, "I can't hurt you."

Lew was shaking her head, and suddenly Hermione felt tears fill her eyes, unbidden and unwanted. She swallowed them back, turning her face to put her cheek against Lew's left shoulder, away from her face.

She finished the last button and pulled the shirt off, revealing Lew's body. It was almost luminescent in the sunlight, so pale. Hermione ran her fingers up Lew's back and then down again, reveling at her smoothness. Then she undid her bra, fumbling a little at the odd angle before dropping it to the ground. She her hands around to Lew's stomach, stroking upward and then resting them on Lew's breasts, nipples pert and hard against her palms.

It was the first time she'd held another woman's breasts, and she let the feeling sink in, leaning against Lew, her heart beating hard. Lew was motionless but full of tension, and still she let Hermione hold her, although Hermione guessed that she wasn't actually breathing. Lew tried to turn, and Hermione pushed her back against the cliff. Lew submitted easily, immediately.

Hands released from Lew's breasts, Hermione stroked Lew's back again, and around her stomach down to her hips. Lew's skin was unbelievably soft, and Hermione again noticed how much firmer it was than anybody she'd ever touched. She could feel Lew's ribs, but she liked her hips more - she slipped her fingers under Lew's pants, tracing downward. Lew breathed out suddenly, shuddering, and Hermione remembered that she was touching a person who could feel her.

She pulled her hands out of Lew's pants and brought them up to Lew's breasts again, and Lew's skin rippled under her touch, her back arching into Hermione's hands. Hermione felt lust pool in her belly, and this time when Lew tried to turn around Hermione let her twist enough that she could kiss her.

Lew's hand came up to cup Hermione's neck, and Hermione felt herself melting into the touch. She wanted Lew - too much. The kiss was blinding, searing, and Hermione was suddenly aware of the power of her lust. She pushed away from Lew, stumbling. It took a moment to clear her mind enough to visualize a location.

Lew was just turning all the way around when Hermione disappeared with a crack.


	13. Chapter 13

_I found out later that Lew was in Belgum investigating the same issue that I was, but for a different master - the Auror of the most questionable reputation, Dane Teague. I still wonder if that was just a cover, because I also still did not realize that the ring she had given me months ago was still operational, and still reporting right back to her. She must have gone there in the hopes of seeing me, on that abandoned mountaintop, and I think she must have gotten almost everything she'd hoped for._

_But it was too little, too late. My work with the phone technology, challenging the financial underpinnings of the wizarding world, had already made our bed for us. She may have hoped that upon seeing her again, I would take her back. But it was too late for our baby._

* * *

><p>A few days after she arrived back from Belgium, Hermione recieved a count injunction in the mail. It included a mandatory notice to appear in two days' time at the Ministry of Magic to defend herself against charges brought against her by Gringotts Bank. The exact nature of the charges was less clear than their severity, and Hermione was well aware of the fact that the comparative clout of the players involved was much more important than the exact nature of their claims.<p>

Without more detail about their case, Hermione could not very well defend herself against it. So she decided to take the question to Gringotts itself. Having broken in once, the layout of the wizarding bank was branded into her skull - specifically, the importance of speaking with the head goblin on the main floor.

And so, the same day that her story on Snickets ran on the front page of the Daily Prophet, Hermione Granger marched up the impressive steps of Gringotts Bank looking for a confrontation. She found one almost immediately. The guards outside the bank's front doors had been warned not to let her through, and it was with great difficulty that she intimidated them into escorting her down that first, long, great hall. Every one of the goblin tellers impassively watched her march. There were no other customers.

"I am looking for Griphook, and do not tell me his is not here. I will not take no for an answer."

The head goblin looked down his impresive nose at her and smirked. "Take her into custody," he said happily.

Hermione struggled against the guards' grip. "It is an absolute disgrace that you are unable to offer financial returns to your customers. The money supply expands every year, and simply storing gold does not keep up with the pace of inflation! You are destroying the economy!" She was furious, turning to the goblin tellers lining the entrance hall. They all looked serenly back at her. "And you have no right to take me into custody, I have violated no law!"

Just as she said that, though, she remembered a passage from a book she had read during her school years. Gringotts could do almost anything it liked, in fact - by law, it was considered sovereign.

Remembering this, Hermione yanked her arm away from one of the guards and drew her wand. This meant that no crimes committed under this roof could be prosecuted by the Ministry.

She felt goblins' magic yank her wand out of her grip, and the other guard, a troll, threw her to the ground. She hit the heavy desk like a rag doll and then fell sprawled to the ground. The world went black.

* * *

><p>Hermione clutched her broken Time-Turner, her body shaking in wracking, silent sobs. She fell against a nearby marble pillar, her arms crossing tightly over her chest as images of herself screamed and hurled brutal curses at the goblins, which took up high keening sounds as they died - at least the ones that still had throats and mouths to scream with. The last goblin had almost made it out of the room before he was taken up by one ankle by a rope, and then smothered by ten more. The images of Hermione started flickering out, looking down at their Time-Turners and spinning. Three, two, and then there were none left, except the one immobilized against the pillar and the one unconscious on the ground at the foot of the huge desk, blood already beginning to pool beneath her.<p>

And then, of all people, Lew appeared at the North Entrance, surveying the carnage with an unreadable expression before spotting the Hermione at the base of the desk and sprinting to her body. Hermione could hear Lew's voice, low and indistinct against the ringing in Hermione's ears, but the version of her at the base of the desk didn't move, her body lolling as Lew turned it over. She saw Lew freeze as she realized where the blood was coming from, and then she touched Hermione's lower belly with gentle, soft reverence, suddenly silent.

Lew sprung into action, levitating Hermione's body, but then, finally, the St. Mungo's paramedics that Hermione had called forty minutes ago arrived, and they took over, telling Lew to "bugger off, you can't come," and then simultaneously disappearing, probably with a password Portkey since that was safer than Apparation.

Hermione sat listlessly at the base of the pillar, realizing that she had stopped crying somewhere in there. Her body was still shaking, and she could feel blood gush again between her legs, but she felt somehow removed, numb. She wasn't in that room anymore. She was in St. Mungo's, and magic would make it right. _This_ her, the one she was currently inhabiting, would cease to exist, because she had changed time. She closed her eyes and willed herself to disappear. This reality was unacceptable.

She heard a soft step in front of her, and she put her face on her knees, arms still crossed tightly. Then there was breathing next to her, and a hand came to rest on her neck. She leaned in that direction, and then Lew's arms were around her, pulling her to rest against her chest. Lew must have been kneeling facing her, but Hermione couldn't tell, her eyes still shut.

They were silent like that a long time, Lew rocking gently, before Lew took a hand away and wiped her own face, and Hermione pulled away to look at her. She'd cut her hair shorter, and she was, in fact, crying. Hermione didn't bother to ask how Lew knew what had happened, with the Time-Turner outside her shirt. And she knew the rules just as well as Hermione did. It was done. There was no changing time.

Finally Lew spoke. "You kept it?" she said, and there was wonderment in her voice, and confusion.

Hermione's breath hitched, and she decided on the safer option of nodding in reply.

Lew's eyes dipped, and her jaw started clenching. She shook her head finally, and said, "I wish I could have done something to stop this," and Hermione misinterpreted the statement, eyes flashing dangerously. "No, I mean I wish I could have been here with you."

Hermione laughed bitterly, which sent a stab of pain through her midsection, making her gasp. She managed, "If twenty of me can't do anything I doubt you could have."

Lew said, "What?" But then her hand came up and she touched the shattered Time-Turner around Hermione's neck. "You travelled back that many times?"

"Until it wouldn't let me," Hermione said shortly, turning her head away. She was sick of the sight of Lew looking so emotional, as if she really cared. "What is it to you?"

"Everything," Lew said, and with that Hermione struggled to her feet, ignoring the pain, and started walking away, trying to get out of Lew's range so she could Apparate without being followed. "Please don't... don't just go like this," Lew said, and Hermione shot a warning look over her shoulder. "Okay, look... I won't say a word, just let me be there for you. Please let me help you," Lew said, and with a rush of emotion Hermione turned and took her hand, spinning into nothingness with a crack.

Lew stumbled in surprise when they arrived at Hermione's studio, and then she looked at Hermione with eyes that made Hermione want to puke. Or maybe it was the pain that did that, because just at that moment another cramp hit her and she sat abruptly on the bed, moaning.

"Aftershocks?" Lew said, and Hermione nodded, tears springing into her eyes again, unwelcome. There was nothing left in her but blood, and Hermione knew she needed to lie down to stop the bleeding, and probably clean herself up. But agony immobilized her, and she curled up on top of her blankets and shook. In moments Lew's body was pressed against her back, arm draped loosely over Hermione's. Hermione relaxed into the touch and let herself grieve.

When she woke up perhaps three hours later, Lew was still holding her. Hermione turned in the bed to face her. She'd found the blanket under the bed and put it over Hermione, and she'd taken her outer robes off, revealing a loose white linen shirt. She looked solemn in the half-light, and Hermione once again realized that Lew was one of the most beautiful sights she'd ever laid eyes on.

"You wanted me to abort," Hermione said tonelessly, and before that moment she hadn't really realized how much of her fury was defensive, over the tiny being that was so unexpectedly hers and hers alone to protect.

Lew looked stricken. "Wanted? No... Assumed, I guess."

"So you..." she struggled for the word, "... forcibly impregnated me while wanting me to keep the baby? That might be worse."

She shrugged helplessly. "It was not my decision to make, it was yours."

"There was no decision," Hermione said, and then she found herself crying again, and was incapable of speech for a few minutes. She refused Lew's arms, though, fighting through it. "So stop lying about being upset, when this is exactly what... you planned from the beginning," she finished.

"I am the worst idiot, Hermione, that much is true. I just felt trapped. It was the only solution."

"You should have asked," Hermione said, and then she grabbed the back of Lew's neck, bringing her own forehead against Lew's almost bruisingly hard. "All you had to say was, 'Let's have a baby.'"

Lew held her softly, bringing their bodies together, and then she tipped her head and snuck a kiss, gentle and so smooth that Hermione almost kissed her back, mostly out of surprise. Hermione said, "All you had to do is come to me every night instead of whispering in my mind, and we could have been so... I wanted you so badly, Lew." Her core throbbed in protest, in stinging pain, warning her away from this path, but she ignored it. "I didn't know until it happened but, if you had asked, maybe I would have known how much I want that."

She knew she was being completely unreasonable, and she knew that she would never have consented to it. But in her wild grief it seemed almost realistic, and she wanted Lew to know how much she wanted that baby. She laughed a little, shaking her head and loosening her grip on Lew. "I would have said no, you don't have to say it."

Lew moved her head away and looked into Hermione's eyes, and Hermione felt the shock of those eyes go through her like the very first time. "It can happen again, Hermione," she said. "This isn't our last chance. It wasn't even really our first chance. We can do it right, when we're really ready. When we can be together through it."

And with that Hermione buried her face in Lew's chest, shaking but tearless for the moment. All she could think was that it was a horrible idea because nothing could replace what she had just lost, but she couldn't say that to Lew. Another part of her was completely terrified at the thought of leaving herself open to be hurt like this again. But her final thought was the one she voiced.

Her voice was muffled by Lew's shirt. "As if I'll ever let you touch me again."

Lew didn't say anything back. She just held Hermione, and eventually Hermione stopped thinking about her again, succumbing to grief.

An hour later, Lew rubbed her back softly and said, "Are you hungry?"

Hermione sniffed and mumbled something about a cracker, but before Lew got up she said, "I'm going to be here for you forever, and do everything in my power to make you happy again. And I'm going to hope that's enough."

* * *

><p><em>Gringotts Bank dropped all charges against me, not that I showed up to the Ministry hearing at all. I do believe that word of the massacre spread among the goblin community, but as of yet it has not gone farther than that. I think that it is a combination of pride and fear that has restrained the rumor, though it was a long time until I even cared that anyone knew at all.<em>

_The next time I saw Harry, it was at the Auror spring party, and he seemed unsurprised at how Lew and I stood together. I never spoke to him separately, but there was happiness in his eyes as he looked at me. At that party, I also announced my retirement, although no-one ever really retires from being an Auror. I had just made the first phone model available to the public, and we weren't able to keep up with the number of orders we were recieving. My investors had almost made back every Galleon of their investment already, and word was spreading of the innovative investment method I had devised. Soon, I would open an investment branch that would upset the goblin community far more than my violence had._

_Dane Teague has caused Lew and I some trouble, but that is a story for a different time. After years passed, I came to recognize that our greatest challenge was defeating Lew's nemesis, a task that I played very little part in. The next time our souls were joined, I had the unfortunate opportunity of glimpsing what his defeat entailed. Lew never spoke of it, but I know that the struggle for his sylvan throne still haunted her. I was happy to offer her an alternative to that solitary life._

_In all, I could imagine nothing that would prove a real challenge to our partnership. It took a few years and much struggling for me to set aside my fury and grief, but she was there through it all, and in that time she almost made up for her brash action so many years ago. In any case, I think I have healed her just as she has healed me, and we have built a life together that I could never have dreamed. She is my perfect complement, and our love wants for nothing in this world._


End file.
